Solstice Dance
by HaideesChild
Summary: Book 2 of my trilogy re-imagining the Twilight saga from Edward's point of view, from New Moon onward. Edward marries his soulmate.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: This is the sequel to my story "Solar Flare" (s/12085878/1/Solar-Flare), so please read that first – otherwise this won't make much sense!_

 _(In some places, I've played around with reworking a scene directly from the books, so I've underlined Stephenie's words to distinguish them.)_

. . . . .

. . . . .

 **Prologue**

 _April 2006_

As nervous as I am for what comes after, our upcoming wedding thrills me every time I think about it—which is most of the time.

Bella is still keeping the news under wraps, though, which gives this period of limbo an undercurrent of anxiety. Alice's lack of understanding makes me especially grateful to have Carlisle and Esme to confide in. My fearless sister thinks her visions of Bella accepting the ring after graduation and our successful honeymoon should ease all my worries—overlooking the fact that she wouldn't see the fallout from any action on Jacob's part until it's too late.

As much as I believe in Bella's love for me, Seth's inside knowledge proves my worries are justified. It took Jacob two and a half weeks to accept not only that he's in love with her but also that he'll do all he can to make _Bella_ accept it, too.

For that reason, I am immensely grateful that Bella shares my desire to spend as much of the day together as is physically possible. There is only one exception: when she is at work. After she decided (perhaps wisely) that it was best I didn't go with her again, I turned to my new friend to help ease my anxiety. Seth and I quickly got into a routine; I pick him up in the Vanquish from wherever he happens to be and we go cruising.

Passing the time with Seth makes the hours without Bella easier to bear, but his connection to Jacob means the mess of that rivalry often intrudes on our mutual cheer. Jacob hates that Seth tells me all his thoughts, and I hate that Seth is stuck in the middle, especially when he is so good at arguing my case. He has even tried to assert that I've _imprinted_ on Bella—and she on me—but Jacob doesn't believe me (or any vampire) capable of such transformation.

Sam is also doing his best to convince Jacob that he's only making it worse for everyone—Bella included—but Jacob won't even listen to his alpha. So it causes tension within the pack, too, as he makes an effort to hide his thoughts and plans from them. And I can't entirely blame him for not giving up; after all, he has a strong argument. I _am_ going to kill her. In fact, if I were him, I would be a lot more proactive (although the apology he carved into a dozen wooden sunflowers was irritatingly effective). His conviction that she would've been open to a relationship with him if I had stayed away—even if I'd not returned home till a couple of weeks later—hurts because it feels entirely plausible. If he ever found out that she speaks his name in her sleep… But thinking about that would drive me insane, so I focus on Bella's happiness and the exhilarating truth that she has chosen _me_.

. . . . .

. . . . .

 **One: Pioneer**

Five weeks after my return, as soon as the weather starts warming up, our classmates propose a trip to La Push Beach. Alice sees the discussion on our way to school and confirms that the weather will be overcast, so I confidently announce my attendance the moment the plan is raised. Bella glances between me and Alice, who is clearly frustrated that she can't come with us, then she smiles at me and pats Alice's leg consolingly.

Being able to go along this time—regardless of whether or not Jacob shows up—delights me for a number of reasons. Most importantly, Bella doesn't have to either stay behind with me or go without me, I can save her from the scratches she got last time, and the fact that I am now allowed on Quileute land still thrills me.

On the way to English, Bella teases me for my excitement.

"I can catch you before you fall," I explain, giving her the reason that means the most to me.

She smiles, and it's clear she's already thought of that. "We can explore the deeper pools," she enthuses.

I nod, looking forward to that, too. "It's been a long time since I explored rock pools. As you may have guessed, I don't visit many beaches."

"You don't just go at night?" she asks curiously.

I can't help chuckling. "I hadn't thought of that," I admit.

She makes a face. "You hadn't?"

"In my defence, I go underwater when I want to see sea creatures, so a beach is basically just bare sand, and even at night, it can be risky where there are people around."

She seems somewhat mollified by my apparent oversight, so I shift the topic slightly by describing the various, stunningly beautiful coral reefs I have explored around the world.

I wait until the evening before the trip to tell Seth about it, out of respect for Alice. Even so, the moment I tell him, the day disappears from her sight—and she wastes no time complaining about it. I let her vent, sympathetic to her frustration, because her complaints are not directed at me, or even at the wolves, but rather at the inexplicable failings in her otherwise "unrivalled" gift.

Mike is almost crosser than Alice when I pull up outside Newton's Outfitters. We picked up Angela and Ben on the way and no one else dares to accept the last seat in the Volvo, so Jess, Conner, Tyler, Lauren, Eric, and Katie Marshall (a junior who lives around the corner from Bella) all pile into Mike's van.

Bella and Angela chat most of the way to La Push, and Ben and I contribute as required. It's a pleasant trip, and I'm in good spirits as I look forward to seeing Seth—even though Jacob is bound to be there, too—so it catches me a little off guard when Ben suddenly starts worrying about me fancying _his_ girl, because of the lie I told to inspire jealousy and provoke him into asking Angela on a date. Through his eyes, I realise that Angela's watchfulness on Bella's behalf could be mistaken for the same sort of revived interest Lauren and Jess have displayed since I returned—and Angela and I have shared a number of smiles this morning, because both of us are particularly happy today (she likes the beach, too, and she's happy for Bella).

When I can't help smiling at her the next time she smiles at me, Ben clenches his fists and tries to figure out how he might fight _me_ for her affections. I briefly debate ways to ease his needless jealousy—the obvious solution is to admit that I did it deliberately, but how can I explain knowing their feelings when they hadn't told a soul? If Ben realises that _Bella_ is the "lab partner" whom I said told me of Angela's feelings, he might tell Angela, and I don't want her to think that Bella had been talking about her behind her back. Perhaps the simplest solution is the best one: being even more overt in my love for Bella.

And then I start hearing Seth's thoughts and stop worrying about everything—even before I realise that Jacob isn't with him. Bella eyes my broad smile with amusement, and then Angela notices it and is intrigued by my exceptional cheerfulness. She thinks she has never seen me look so genuinely happy—for the first time, the emotion in my eyes truly reflects the smile on my lips.

Seth is currently striding through town, with Emily, Paul, Rachel, Jared, and Kim straggling along behind him. Quil Ateara Jnr has just phased (which is why they weren't at the beach waiting for us), so Sam, Embry, and Jacob are helping him, otherwise the three of them would have come along as well.

It's interesting hearing both the change in Paul's thoughts since he imprinted on Rachel—his mellowness is extraordinary—and Rachel's and Kim's minds for the first time (although I've seen plenty of Kim from Jared, so she doesn't exactly feel like a stranger), but Seth's thoughts are still most captivating.

The main news is Quil joining the pack, but alongside that, Seth also shares some thoughts about Leah and his mother, who were smiling and even laughing together at breakfast this morning. Leah is getting better at controlling her phasing, and she's been spending more time with Sue. Seth is so happy that they're finding it as easy as they are to rebuild their relationship, which had been strained to breaking point after Sam's apparent betrayal (followed by Emily's) and their parents' defence of his 'choice'.

At the beach, Mike and Tyler lead the way to an already-assembled driftwood arena 30 yards from the surf. Bella and Angela gravitate to one of the larger logs, so I sit on Bella's left, just up from the end to leave a free space for Seth. As he draws near, he considers initiating a 'secret handshake'. I turn my head slightly to the side and back to say _no_ , so he settles for a fist bump.

"'Sup, bro?" he says, grinning at me. Then he looks at Bella. "'Sup, Bells?" he says, with a jerk of his chin.

She repeats the gesture. "'Sup, Seth?" she replies, also grinning.

Our schoolmates are surprised to see me so smiley with someone other than Bella and my family, and intrigued by our easy familiarity. Mike is peeved. At the first opportunity—basically as soon as Seth introduces himself and then points out the others as they catch up—he asks after Jacob.

Bella tenses and Jared and Paul glance at me, exposing the awkwardness of the subject, but Seth fields the question almost effortlessly.

"He's off doing something," he says casually. "Didn't say what." (Because he didn't need to _say_ anything.)

"So he won't come by later?" Mike presses, not letting it go.

"Doubt it," Seth retorts, before pointedly eyeing the suddenly uncomfortable boy. "Why? You come here specially to see _him_?"

Paul and Jared snort, and my lips twitch despite my ongoing discomfort. Mike is tempted to retaliate with something, but he's too afraid it'll backfire and make him look even stupider—and too afraid of Seth and his friends (and me, though he doesn't like to think that he _fears_ me).

When he doesn't reply, the latecomers refocus on finding somewhere to sit. Seth decides that the space beside me isn't enough (and he wants to tease us), so he encourages Bella to sit on my lap and then shoves me along as he sits down. She flushes a little, embarrassed, but obliges him. I wrap my arms loosely around her and she drapes an arm over my shoulder. I wish we were both wearing warmer clothes—she will get cold before long—but I can always suggest we go for a walk, so it's not really a problem. And having her in my arms is as nice as it is useful; our classmates have never seen us look so comfortable with each other.

I am loath to find anything good out of my senseless departure, but it has certainly cured me of my thirst for Bella's blood.

Seth and I are too intriguing for the others to start up their own conversations, so we can't say what we want to (even though Seth is eager to know if I could hear him before he left home—he thinks I should be able to hear him from anywhere in La Push). But he has a ready-prepared, ordinary question about something he _is_ curious about.

"You ever been surfing?" he asks me, knowing Bella hasn't. When I shake my head, he is a little surprised, despite half-expecting that. "It's _fun_!" _I should've brought my surfboard_.

"I don't go to beaches very often," I say, indulging the kids who think my freakish paleness is proof enough that I don't surf (or spend time in the sun).

Seth laughs. "This summer, I'm teaching you to surf." He loves the thought of teaching _me_ something (even though he guesses I'll be a fast learner), and I can't help sharing his enthusiasm.

I waggle an eyebrow at Bella. "You in?"

Seth and I both laugh at her aghast expression—but she quickly gets her own back. "I will be _next_ year," she says smugly. "After college."

Seth laughs again (because he knows she can't wait for the physical prowess that comes with being a vampire), but _I_ can't. He sees my sadness and raises a different topic. "How about a hike this summer, then?" he suggests. "I want to explore the headwaters of the Quillayute—you ever been up there?"

I shake my head. "I don't think I've ever been anywhere near there," I say, subtly reminding him that until a few weeks ago, I was banned from that area.

He picks up on it almost immediately (only a fraction slower than his pack-brothers), then laughs, his thoughts immediately running to all the other beautiful places I have never seen. "We should make a proper trip out of it," he enthuses, picturing a week or so of exploring the remote wilderness—where he can be wolf or human.

"You mean _camping_?"

"Yes! I remember Bella coming with us, too."

Bella scoffs. " _Years_ ago," she says, "and not by choice." She shares a grin with Rachel, who remembers the camping better than Seth; she and Bella were both unwilling participants, but too shy even to bond over it.

I smile at Bella. "I can't imagine you camping," I joke; Seth and Rachel both know I'm seeing their memories right now, but only Seth realises that I mean I'm enjoying them (Rachel thinks I'm just saying it for our audience).

" _You_ go camping all the time," he tells me, undeterred. "You must have all the gear to keep us in luxury—big tent, foldaway stove, camp stretchers—"

I laugh. "Tent, yes," I confirm, because we _do_ have one (bought as a prop), "but we don't have a fancy stove or camp stretchers."

He scoffs. "I can't picture you on an airbed on the ground."

" _Airbed_ ," I retort. "We have camping mats."

Seth laughs. " _No!_ I want _luxury_! Back me up, Bella."

Bella nods, grinning. "I have done all the sleeping on the ground I'm ever going to do," she jokes, seeming not to realise that her words will remind us of Sam's memory of her curled up on the wet ground.

I hold my smile in place with effort, trying to focus on Seth. He knows we can't sleep (when he asked me about it a couple of weeks ago, I'd been a little surprised that Bella hadn't shared that fact), so he's trying to convince me that buying camp beds is a good investment.

"If I were to acquire a camp stretcher or two," I say to Bella, "does that mean you'd be interested?"

She eyes my face intently, gauging my seriousness—until Seth's eager nodding becomes too distracting to ignore. She shoves him playfully. "This is _your_ fault," she complains.

He grins, sensing weakness. "It won't be like it was," he points out. "It'll be _fun_ , and we'll have _proper_ food."

She sighs heavily, then her lips twitch at the corners. "I suppose I could be persuaded," she concedes.

Seth immediately starts planning how to sell the trip to his mother; the other wolves and Emily wonder if she will agree to such a lengthy sojourn, while Jared is also wondering if Kim would like to go—if the invitation extends to them. I smile at him to let him know they would be welcome (though I'm not sure how comfortable Kim will feel in the dark when I'm nearby).

"Alice wants to throw a graduation party," I say, "but otherwise, I think our summer is pretty open, isn't it, Bella?"

She gives me a rather pointed little glare, so most of our audience realise I'm making some private joke. Seth is curious, but lets it go; he thinks I will tell him when Bella and I have agreed to whatever it is—so I feel especially guilty for keeping it from him.

"Who's invited?" Tyler asks.

For a fraction of a second, I forget he's referring to the graduation party; if I couldn't hear his thoughts, I'm sure I would've been stunned silent. Fortunately, I see the fuller thought attached to the question, so no one, not even the wolves, picks up on my hesitation. "Probably everyone," I say casually, as if I am oblivious to their curiosity about our house.

Bella groans softly, and I can't help grinning at her; I've seen her reaction to Alice's preferred outfit for her. In her distraction, she lets out a shiver. She tenses immediately, but it's too late—I know now that I've let her get too cold.

She expects me to move her onto the driftwood beside me, so she clings tight to me—but I want to stand up. I can't resist the opportunity to tease her, so I lift her as I stand. With her arm around my neck, it's easy to slide her higher. For a second, her bottom is higher than her head, but I put her down even before she starts to squeak out an indignant complaint.

I chuckle at her adorable frowny face; I'm tempted to say something like _you're sexy when you're angry_ , but I'm not sure she'll take it the right way and Lauren at least will find some way to twist it. "Rock pools?" I suggest instead.

"I wish I could pick _you_ up," Bella grouses, ignoring my question.

Seth grins at her as he pictures throwing me over _his_ shoulder.

"No," I tell him firmly, before he even opens his mouth, but I can get away with it because everyone else knows what he was thinking, too.

He isn't deterred, and Bella eggs him on, so I start running before he can grab me. Seth laughs and races after me.

"You can't outrun me!" he cries. _Not in front of all these witnesses_.

I laugh and head towards the water. Seth dares to run a little faster than he really should, so he is soon on my heels. I veer aside twice, then let him grab me. We wrestle for a moment and then he knocks me into the water. I wasn't planning to get wet—stupidly, I didn't bring a change of clothing—but it's too late now. So I grab Seth and pull him in after me.

He laughs and almost gets a mouthful of saltwater, but I knock the water aside before he can breathe it in. The darting movement of my hand by his face startles him a little but he isn't the least bit afraid; I knew he wouldn't be (otherwise I would've done something else), but it's still a pleasant reminder of how much he trusts me.

When I stand up, dripping wet, _all_ the girls eye me with interest. Only Kim averts her gaze; even Rachel, who knows of my mind-reading ability and has a well-built man of her own, can't help enjoying the sight. I regret not running a little further so that their human eyes wouldn't see me as well.

Bella smirks, too, and her pleasure is a huge consolation. When she beckons to me as she walks over, I wade through the surf to meet her at the water's edge, wondering what she has in mind. Meanwhile, Seth splashes about in the waves, wishing he could phase.

Bella strokes my abs through the wet t-shirt. "Better take that off before you catch a chill," she teases.

I can't help smiling, but I don't move to obey just yet. "I make a point of keeping my shirt _on_ in front of our classmates…"

She slides her fingers beneath the hem of my shirt. "Even when I ask you to take it off?"

"I suppose not," I allow hesitantly; Seth chuckles at my tone. "I'm just not sure you quite comprehend the hideous fantasies I'll be subjected to."

"What _I_ want isn't worth that?"

"I take my top off for you all the time."

"Well, _I_ want to make a point." She starts rolling up the shirt front, exposing my abs, and I let her undress me for another moment before sliding my fingers around hers and then pulling the shirt over my head.

It's hard to ignore the audible gasps as Jess and Lauren gawp at my body then immediately start imagining their hands stroking me where Bella's are. But Bella does a good job of distracting me. She slides her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, and around the back of my neck, burying one hand in my hair, and then pulls my lips down to meet hers.

I cup her face in one hand and kiss back, shifting slightly so that her body screens mine from view, while also limiting the amount of water I'm dripping on her.

Seth strides out of the water. "Are we _not_ going for a walk now?" he jokes.

Bella pulls back a little without letting me go. "Yeah, we're still walking," she says, smirking a little.

Confidence suits her; she is undeniably sexy—even more than usual. She gives me another little kiss on the lips and then lets go of my hair. I flick my fringe off my face, and then stifle a groan as Lauren and Jess have a physical reaction to the movement.

"Please can we go now?" I murmur.

Bella nods and takes my hand. Seth pulls his t-shirt off, too—to give the girls something else to ogle, and I'm grateful for how well it works—and then we set off towards the pathway that leads to the rock pools.

Lauren barely waits until we're properly out of earshot before giving voice to her nastiness. "What's so special about Bella Swan?" she says snidely.

She isn't expecting a straight reply, so when Paul retorts, "She's cool," she gapes stupidly for a moment—but only for a moment, because she is sure there's no defence for Bella's behaviour where I'm concerned.

"Seems pretty pathetic to me—the way she lost it when he left and now she's acting like nothing happened."

Paul just shrugs. "I'd curl up into a ball and never move again if Rach left me."

Rachel kisses his shoulder. "Remember that next time we disagree," she teases.

He chuckles. "When have I ever disagreed with you?"

"Good boy."

Jared and Paul laugh. Lauren is shocked by how badly she has been beaten down.

"I didn't know you were friends with any of the Cullens," Tyler says, steering the conversation in the direction he's most interested in.

Jared speaks up this time. "Seth's sister was in an accident, and Doctor Cullen saved her life. Seth and Edward hit it off, and it turns out Edward's not the stiff we thought he was."

I laugh at Jared's subtle joke (as do Paul and Rachel), so of course Bella and Seth want to know what I've heard.

While I explain, Paul adds, "He's still not as cool as Bella—she's badass."

Jared laughs as he agrees.

Seth is very satisfied by his pack-brothers' defence of Bella, and Bella looks more pleased than embarrassed, but I change the topic before we end up dwelling on our schoolmates' jealousy.

"I could hear your thoughts clearly from half a mile further away," I tell him, "so that's almost six miles now."

He is moderately impressed, but he still expects considerable improvement—ten miles is his _minimum_ target for me. I slap my wet t-shirt lightly against his side. "It's going to take a while to get to ten miles."

"I've got a while," he jokes.

"I'm glad," I reply, not letting it go unsaid.

He rolls his eyes at my earnestness, though it pleases him. _I know_ , he tells me. _No imprinting on a mortal chick_.

"Not funny," I mutter; when we hopefully have an eternity of life ahead of us, he's bound to find his soulmate eventually. And it's selfish of me to hope his happiness is delayed for the sake of _my_ happiness.

He throws an arm around my shoulder. _I'm not going anywhere, bro_. "Talk," he says, changing the subject; he is thinking about a number of things, but all related to his camping idea.

"All right," I agree. " _I_ like the idea of going camping—" I pause to gauge Bella's honest feeling, and she raises an eyebrow, which I take to mean _convince me_. "You can walk when you want or I can carry you." Seth wonders if she'd like a wolfback ride, but I don't make the offer in case Jacob tags along, too. "We can explore the waterfalls and caves, which _are_ incredible—"

" _I'm_ convinced," Seth says.

Bella smiles. "Me, too," she concedes.

Seth whoops and then adds some further ideas—swimming, climbing trees, hunting.

While I guide Bella over a jumble of tree roots at the entrance to the forest, I listen to his memories from the pack; Sam's favourite hunt is wild boar, but the pack recently discovered that feral goats make good sport, too. I laugh as he shows me their chase, and the goats managing to evade them all. "Goats one, wolf pack zero."

Bella's primary focus is the uneven ground, but she glances up at me quizzically, while Seth asks if _I've_ ever hunted goats.

"No, never," I reply, laughing at the thought.

"What about cows?" Bella asks curiously.

"No. Just deer, bear, mountain lion, feral horse—"

" _Horse?_ " she interrupts, shocked; I have to catch her before she loses her footing. I wonder if this will be the moment she finally sees the monster—when I've finally stopped waiting for it—but then she simply says, "There are feral horses in America?"

"You've heard of mustangs?" I reply, relieved. She nods, so I tailor my explanation to suit; perhaps she thought of mustangs as _wild_ horses and that caused the confusion. "They're the main type of feral horse in America—technically, they're not _wild_ because they descend from domesticated horses. Most of them are in Nevada. Horse tastes better than deer, but not _that_ much better, and they live in more open areas, which limits the opportunities for hunting."

"What else have you had?" Seth asks.

"Emmett dared me to drink rat blood once," I admit.

Seth roars with laughter, and Bella chuckles despite wrinkling her nose.

"It wasn't _bad_ ," I say, indulging them, "just a lot of effort for little reward."

Seth laughs harder, then his amusement eases off as he wonders what human blood tastes like, in comparison.

"I'm biased," I murmur, reluctant to follow this path; Seth hasn't asked about my murdering rampage before.

 _Try?_ , he asks.

"Pig is the closest we know of—none of us has had chimpanzee or gorilla, so I can't say if their blood is more like human or not. Rosalie and Emmett were going to try ape blood the first time they went to Africa, but they changed their minds." I picture the massive silverback gorilla's wise eyes as he stood between them and his troop, ready to die to protect his family, and seeming to know he probably would. Even self-absorbed Rosalie had been moved by the beast's courage.

Bella looks intrigued. "You like mountain lion more than pig?" she asks softly.

"It's hard to explain…"

"We've got all day," Seth points out.

I smile at them both, grateful for their compassion, and take a deep breath. What words can possibly describe the most primal part of me? I decide to make it as simple as possible. "Pig is more similar to human, but it still doesn't fully satisfy the craving. Mountain lion has more flavour, if that makes sense—it has an extra kick."

Seth understands, so I look at Bella to gauge how much she followed my explanation. She nods and squeezes my hand.

"Not so hard," Seth teases—before suddenly wondering if thinking about the taste of human blood makes the craving worse.

"That part of me is always hungry," I confess. "Talking about it doesn't change anything. If I were less disciplined, it would affect me, but right now, it makes no difference."

 _That sucks_ , Seth murmurs, thinking about the constant craving; he glances at Bella and sees her seriousness.

"What if you were hungrier?" Bella asks softly.

"If I were _a lot_ hungrier, eventually, I'd reach a point where I wouldn't be able to think about much else." (I've never got to that point myself, so I'm basing the conclusion on Carlisle's experience—before he'd stumbled across the deer, he'd been reduced to one thought only: _Life is worth this pain_.)

She makes a face, and I'm not sure if it's guilt or worry troubling her; Seth sees the worry more strongly.

"You'll handle it, too," he tells her confidently. He has absolute faith that she won't ever hurt anyone.

Bella smiles at him, appreciating his reassurance as much as I do. "Thanks, Seth," she murmurs. "That means a lot."

He smiles back. "Billy will let you enter our lands, too," he says.

"You can't promise that," I point out.

He just shrugs. "Mum and Billy care as much about Charlie as they do our tribe—if Bella stays in Forks, they'll let her into La Push as well."

I sigh. "That's a big _if_ …"

"Charlie can deal with it."

"We're not telling Charlie!" Bella exclaims, stomping her foot down awkwardly as she comes to an abrupt halt.

Seth holds up a hand in apology. "I didn't mean tell him about _vampires_. You could just say you got sick and Doctor Cullen saved your life, and let Charlie think what he likes."

The simple idea is highly appealing. "That _could_ work," I allow, though the curiosity of the rest of the town won't be as easy to settle. "But we can't predict how long it will be before Bella can stand to be around humans again."

Seth laughs. "The next day, I bet!"

Bella flushes, but I don't know if she is gratified by his supreme confidence in her or anxious about this great unknown. I squeeze her hand. "One day or one _year_ , it's irrelevant—you will learn to control your thirst, and I'm sure you'll be at least as fast as I was."

"How fast?" Seth asks.

"Seven and a half months."

"You could hear people's thoughts, though," Bella points out, implying that my gift aided my self-control.

"You don't _need_ to hear people's thoughts to feel compassion for them."

"Some people's thoughts must make it _harder_ ," Seth suggests, thinking of a kid in his class whose very presence gets on his nerves.

"I didn't know you disliked anyone," I tease.

He laughs. "You wouldn't like him either."

"I don't," I agree, basing it on my faith in Seth's judgement—which is further reinforced when I realise he shakes off the boy's verbal attacks as soon as they happen, not wanting to waste his life thinking about it.

"Thanks, bro." He considers inviting me to his school one day to frighten the horrid kid, and I am sorely tempted—but anything so overt would probably backfire on us both.

"Shall I pick you up in the Vanquish after school on Tuesday?" I suggest.

Seth imagines the boy (and everyone else) hearing me roar up in the expensive car, then seeing me waiting, casually leaning against the driver's door, and wondering who I'm there for, until Seth strolls over and gets in. He likes the idea, but it won't stop the boy's nasty taunts. "He'll probably start a rumour that I'm gay or something."

"Let him."

Seth winks at me. "You hoping that'll keep the girls away?"

We all laugh at that. "That is a definite plus," I shoot back. "But I was thinking you can tell him he's an ugly, jealous loser."

 _I'll tell him you're my boyfriend, too, shall I?_ , he teases.

"Only if you think it'll make him jealous," I tease back. "Does that mean you want picked up, then?"

"By you? _Anytime_ ," he jokes. Then he realises there's a problem. "If you can't get there before school finishes, no one will see."

"Edward can charm his way out early," Bella says teasingly, her gaze raking across my bare chest, before seeming to realise she's ogling me and dragging her gaze back up to my face. "And I can drive Alice home."

I have to laugh at that. "I think Alice would rather _walk_."

Bella pouts, but she can't maintain a frown through Seth's laughter.

"You'd be okay with me leaving early?" I ask her, wanting to be clear on this point before I commit to anything.

"Only because there's such a good reason for it," she replies, grinning.

Seth grins and thanks her, then changes the subject back to his proposed camping trip as he waves us forwards again. "We can go look at some camping gear after you pick me up—and take advantage of Bella's staff discount."

Bella laughs, and I let myself picture Mike's face if I pull up in the Vanquish, but I know I shouldn't—Bella does have to work there for another couple of months, after all.

"We'll have to get the Volvo first," I say.

Seth shrugs. "Sure—we'll need the space anyway, won't we?"

I chuckle. "Sounds like it. But at least you've sold the luxury angle, so Mike shouldn't be suspicious if we buy a lot of new gear."

"What _do_ you have?" Seth asks, already drawing up a wish list.

"A ten-person tent, camping mats, and a few pots and pans. We've never used any of it," I add as he starts to wonder. "Alice put up the tent once, for fun, but that's it."

In wolf form, he doesn't need a tent or bed either, but he prefers to sleep in human form, so he absolutely wants a big tent and a comfortable camp bed. The comparison leads him to ponder the wolves' need for sleep in contrast to vampires' inability to sleep. It makes sense for vampires (which doesn't lessen the unpleasantness of having an enemy that truly doesn't need rest)—our bodies don't need to repair themselves the way humans' do—but the reason why he and his fellow wolves still sleep (on average) as much as humans, despite their supernatural advantages, is less obvious.

"Why is it that we can get by on half an hour if we have to," he asks, "but we'd all sleep for _days_ if we could get away with it?"

While Bella laughs at the apt question, I consider the potential physiological drivers.

"Sleep is important for mental wellbeing as well as physical repair," I say. "Perhaps sleeping for longer helps you process all the extra thoughts you hear from each other."

He likes the sound of that, and thinks it fits with his experience (which is what I based it on). "I sleep a lot deeper on the days we all run together," he comments, even as he ponders my point about sleep being important for mental wellbeing. "Do vampires go crazy? And what about people who are already crazy before they're changed?"

"Vampires do go crazy from time to time—there are all sorts of triggers, but I suppose lack of sleep certainly helps a vampire lose perspective more quickly. For a human, whether the transformation can heal the mind or not depends on what caused the mental illness. If it's a physical issue—something neurological or hormonal, say—the vampire usually turns out sane, but is still severely traumatised. If it's something else, something metaphysical, the transformation usually exacerbates the problem."

" _Super_ crazy," Seth remarks with an exaggerated shudder.

I nod. "They don't survive long, though—they risk our exposure, so other vampires take them out pretty quickly." I don't mention that the one who usually takes out a rogue newborn is the one who made the newborn in the first place (because no one wants the Volturi for an enemy).

Once we arrive at the shore, Seth and Bella immediately focus on the rock pools. They start pointing out the various creatures—to me and to each other, showing off their knowledge. I only chime in when they can't agree on the species, or they don't know it. I love experiencing their excitement when they see a rare creature or a behaviour they've never seen before.

Hours like this make me glad our lives never have to end.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two: Champion**

The last eleven minutes of the school day always seem to pass the slowest. Everyone—even the teachers—starts switching off, which means the thoughts around me are at their most random, and least sophisticated. I usually hear far too much about their plans for the evening, no matter how carefully I try to focus on other things. Today, though, I don't have to try for long. When there are eight minutes to go, one person's mind drowns out everyone else's.

I almost snap my pen when Jacob's thoughts suddenly burst into range—and what he's thinking doesn't help me control my temper. He intends to snatch Bella away after school, riding off with her on the back of his bike. (If I weren't so filled with rage, I would be amused that he has bought a helmet especially for her.) He hates that I will get forewarning of his approach, but he's given up waiting for the sun to keep me away from school and he's doing his usual trick of recalling his favourite memories of Bella to help him control his thoughts. The fact that I am no longer forbidden entry to La Push means he isn't sure how to stop me following them (because he rightly suspects that I could track the motorbike—and him—with ease), but he is deliberately avoiding thinking about where he'll take her in the hope of keeping their eventual destination a secret.

Bella sees the tension in my body almost instantly. I debate what to say for a moment, before realising that anything other than the truth will sound like a lie if she ever finds out that Jacob came to school and I didn't tell her.

And then I hear Alice's vision of what I say, before her intense frustration breaks her concentration and she starts cursing Jacob to the deepest, darkest, coldest pit on Earth (because he's bound to spoil her evening—she had been planning to invite Bella and me to join her and Jasper at a concert in Port Angeles tonight, and if we don't go, Jasper will bow out, too).

"If Jacob were to turn up here," I murmur unwillingly, "would you want to speak with him?"

Bella's expression is shock mingled with a distressing amount of what looks like excitement, backed up by her racing heart. "He's _here_?" she hisses.

"Almost. He's on his motorbike. He's brought a helmet for you…"

She takes my hand beneath the table and squeezes it, sympathetic to my distress. "We can talk to him together."

"I don't think that's his plan," I reply, unable to hope yet.

"I don't care," she replies, making me smile. "As long as you're okay with that."

"I'd go anywhere with you," I remind her.

"That's not what I meant," she says, not letting it go. "Could you stand to be around him?"

I can't help sighing. "I already know what he wants to tell you, and I'd rather he never said any of it."

She is silent for a painfully long time, and she looks guilty—but is it guilt for hurting Jacob or _me_? (Or _both_ of us?) Then, finally, she says, "Maybe getting it off his chest will help him move on."

I desperately hope that that's what she really wants; to try to confirm it, I can't help asking, "Is _that_ why you want to talk to him?"

"That, and he's still my _friend_. I care about him."

I nod, trying to stifle my jealousy, which isn't easy with Jacob's bitter thoughts streaming through my head.

When the bell rings, I take a deep breath. Bella packs away her books, then waits while I do the same. All I want to do is throw her over my shoulder and run, but I let her walk and I try not to seem tense. She takes my hand and, although it is comforting, it makes it harder to pretend I'm not uptight.

Outside, Jacob is sitting astride his bike at the bottom of the steps. He has amassed quite a crowd already; Mike and Lauren have made sure everyone knows that this is _Bella's_ Jacob, so they're eagerly anticipating a fight between him and me.

"Bella!" Jacob calls excitedly.

She waves lackadaisically. "Hey, Jake," she says, making a slight show of surprise without responding to his manic urgency.

"C'mon," he urges, waving the helmet.

Bella continues to hold my hand as we descend the steps. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

His control momentarily slips and I see that he isn't just planning to lay his heart bare for her, he's going to declare his love and _demand_ that she acknowledge _her_ feelings for _him_. I can't help shifting closer to Bella, stepping a little further forward so that I am in front of her. He glares at me and I glare back; he looks away first, to answer Bella's question.

"I wanted to apologise—in person."

"If you didn't disappear every time we visit," she chides lightly, "you could've done that weeks ago."

He gives her his best carefree grin (focusing on her to avoid thinking about why he hasn't met up with us in La Push, though it's easy to guess—he wants her to miss him just as much as he wants to avoid me), then says, "Well, I'm here now. I thought we could go for a ride."

She shakes her head. "You know Dad'll hear about this."

"He won't mind if _I'm_ driving," he points out, irritatingly smug as he calls up memories of Charlie bemoaning my return with relish.

Bella glances between the two of us. "How about _you_ ride and Edward and I follow in the car?"

"Cullen's not invited."

" _I'm_ inviting him."

"What I have to say isn't his business."

" _Oh?_ " I object. I dearly wish I could tell him that Bella is my fiancée—if only the ring currently hidden away in my pocket were on display where it should be—but I hold my tongue.

"You shouldn't even _be_ here," he says harshly, thinking in terms of my being dead as well as my inopportune return.

" _Jake_ ," Bella scolds. "Be nice."

He snorts, then shakes his head. "I need to talk to you _alone_." He sets his puppy-dog eyes on her and I can feel her conviction waver.

Before he can emphasise their _friendship_ (which is the _last_ thing on his mind), I say, "Bella and I will drive to wherever you have in mind, and then I'll wait in the car while you _talk_."

Bella looks up at me with such love and gratitude for offering this compromise that I can't help feeling better about it. And Jacob's furious reaction helps even more. He can see that if he doesn't agree, _he_ will become the unreasonable one—yet I will be in range of his thoughts the whole time.

"Fine," he snaps. "I'll lead the way."

Bella smiles and then nudges me forwards. I wrap one arm around her shoulder to make sure part of me always stays between them as we walk past. Jacob knows the Volvo is nearby, but he waits until I turn on the engine before starting up his bike.

Then he cruises past us slowly, enjoying this bit of control over me—he deems it proof that I can't exclude him from Bella's life any more than he can exclude me.

Despite his earlier slip, he is still doing his best not to think about exactly what he plans to say to her, because he is painfully aware that _I_ have Bella with me now. What he doesn't realise is that stealing the words out of his head and telling her first won't do me any favours. Bella is too considerate for that, and in any case, I've basically already told her about his feelings.

"Do you think he can handle just being your friend?" I ask instead, hoping I'm not treading into dangerous territory.

"That's all he was before," she shoots back.

"Me being here changes things."

"It only changes _one_ thing, and he doesn't want to know me after that anyway." She looks away; from her reflection in the car window, I can see that her face is tight with sadness.

I don't know what to say to that—I can't defend his cruel remark, but I want to ease her pain. Regardless, the only thing that comes to mind is his youth, and there's no way I'm raising the touchy subject of _age_. So it seems there's only one thing I can do: apologise. "I'm sorry—this is all my fault."

She looks back at me and manages a little smile, before unexpectedly grinning. "If you _hadn't_ left, I wouldn't have got to know him at all—or any of them—so he owes you." Her eyes suddenly widen. "You wouldn't know Seth—Riley might've killed them!"

I stroke her face, hoping to soothe her; her eyes are still alight with emotion, but her heartbeat slows (though it stutters a little, as usual, at my touch). "Seth's friendship means a lot to me—even more than being granted permission to enter Quileute lands—but I would trade all of it to spare you the pain I caused when I left."

" _I_ wouldn't."

"Then I'm grateful some good has come out of my folly."

She nods and we share a smile. For the first time, the burden of guilt lightens and I feel amazingly free. If only Jacob would imprint and resolve the one remaining problem. But he is determined to have _my_ girl, not his own.

When he takes the turnoff to La Push, I try to prepare myself for driving all the way to the coast. He's considering taking us to the beach, but he wants somewhere that he can get Bella further away from me. As if the further she is from me, the more receptive to his suit she'll be.

And then he remembers that the further we travel now, the more time _I_ have with her. I listen as he sorts through a few options; then, as he turns off the highway and we follow him down a side road that quickly becomes gravel and then dirt, I ask Bella if she's ever been to the track he's leading us to.

She shakes her head. "I've never even heard of it."

I don't like the sound of that. I have no doubt Jacob will use her unfamiliarity with the terrain to full advantage. "You don't have to walk anywhere with him if you don't want to."

"It'll be okay," she assures me, supremely confident. "He just wants to talk."

Since I know exactly what he _wants_ , I can't agree. "Just say my name and I'll be there," I say instead.

She smiles. "I know." Then she sighs. "You don't have to stay."

I take a deep breath. "Do you want me to go?"

She rests her hand on my thigh, sympathetic to my distress, but she mustn't understand how difficult it was to give her the option to send me away because the next thing she says is, "I don't want to hurt you."

It's hard not to jump to conclusions—especially with Jacob's determined thoughts filling my head—but I force myself to think through the anxiety. It isn't necessarily that she thinks what she wants to say to Jacob will hurt me… Maybe she thinks watching her listen to Jacob professing his love will upset me. But I have to know. "I'd rather know exactly how you feel—"

"You _do_ know."

"Then please let me stay."

She sighs. "I guess you already know what Jake's planning to say…"

"Yes."

She sighs again, then looks ahead to watch Jacob. She hasn't explicitly said it, but she's obviously letting me stay, and I am immensely grateful.

Jacob stops on the right of the tiny clearing at the start of the trail, forcing me to pull up beside him so that Bella is nearest to him.

"Let's go for a walk, Bells," he shouts cheerfully through the car door, trying to pretend I'm not there (while at the same time being especially careful with his thoughts—unfortunately, hiding his thoughts from his pack-brothers has given him ample practice).

Before she gets out of the car, I lean across and press a kiss to her temple, using the excuse to get close enough to breathe into her hair. I want her to smell of me—to remind him that she lets _me_ get this close to her, not him. "I love you," I say.

When I pull back, she smiles up at me. "I love you, too."

Jacob pretends not to hear our exchange. He hates that she lets me touch her, but he is more confident than usual. He truly thinks he can make her acknowledge her feelings for _him_.

Bella gets out of the car and Jacob gestures for her to take the path into the trees. In less than a minute, they disappear from sight. Right now, I'm more relieved than I've ever been that the wolves can't hide their thoughts from me the way Bella and her father somehow manage to.

Before the second minute is up, I get out of the car and lean against the door. It's too claustrophobic inside the metal box, and I am certain I can wait here without interfering—unless she calls my name.

Jacob keeps the conversation light as he makes her trek over a mile through the rough terrain, avoiding her attempts to broach the subject that is the reason for this whole performance (he is trying to evoke memories of happy times they've spent together). He even mentions Seth's camping trip and she seems frighteningly agreeable when he hints at tagging along. He catches her whenever she trips or even wobbles, which is often, taking advantage of every opportunity to touch her.

When a section of her shirt becomes untucked at the back and he deliberately places his hand there at the next opportunity (while also enlarging the breach), I almost destroy the door panel I'm leaning against. Bella starts and immediately fixes her shirt, but doesn't tell him off—probably because she thinks it was an accident, but Jacob concludes that she enjoyed the caress of his warm fingers just as much as he did. He replays the memory of stroking her soft skin over and over, taunting me with the "truth" that she enjoyed that momentary caress more than she could ever enjoy my cold, dead body. Oblivious to his maliciousness, she continues to accept his help without comment, seeming as frustratingly engaged in his conversation as before. My one comfort is that the smile she gives him is not the one she gives _me_ when I touch her (because her heart is just as responsive).

When he finally stops, he chooses a sunny spot, knowing how much Bella loves the sun.

"I think you already know what I want to tell you," he says, starting gentle while subtly laying the foundations for the contention that she loves him, too, "but I need to say it out loud anyway. Just so there's never any confusion on the subject."

Her face closes down—but is it resistance to his feelings or an attempt to reject her own? Or worry for me? Or is she preparing to give Jacob his moment, so he can't use this excuse again? Or is it simply because this is hard for her, too, whatever her feelings are for him?

"I'm in love with you, Bella," he says in his strong, sure voice, with all the passion of youth and invincibility. "I love you, and I want you to pick me instead of him. I know you _say_ you don't feel that way, but I need the truth out there so that you know your options. I wouldn't want a miscommunication to stand in our way. I love you, Bells."

She looks alarmingly devastated, and I wonder if his uncharacteristic eloquence has caught her off guard.

He grins at her speechlessness, counting her silence as confirmation of conflicted feelings: he had expected her to object, and fiercely. I can see an alternative, however, and I cling to it—she is sad for him.

In the hope of wheedling an admission out of her, even with me listening in, he poses her a question: "Do you want me to go away and never see you again? Be honest."

She closes her eyes in a way that reminds me (painfully) of the way she closes her eyes when I 'dazzle' her—is she dazzled by _him_? Or worse, is she preparing to lie to him? Then she shakes her head.  "No, I don't want that," she admits heavily. When she opens her eyes and sees his grin, she frowns and hastily adds, "But I don't want you around for the same reason that you want me around."

"Tell me exactly why you want me around, then," he says, not letting it go.

She thinks carefully before replying. "I miss you when you're not there. When you're happy, it makes me happy. But I could say the same thing about Charlie, Jacob. You're family. I love you, but I'm not _in_ love with you."

He nods, unruffled. "But you do want me around."

"Yes," she concedes with a sigh; it must be obvious that he isn't remotely discouraged.

"Then I'll stick around."

"You're a glutton for punishment," she grumbles.

"Yep." When I hear his intent to touch her cheek, my whole body goes rigid. I want to break his fingers. At least Bella slaps his hand away—it's almost worth it for that.

"Do you think you could behave yourself a little better, at least?" she snaps.

"No, I don't. You decide, Bella. You can have me the way I am—bad behaviour included—or not at all."

She stares at him, frustration written all over her face. "That's mean."

"So are you."

I hiss through my teeth even as Bella takes an involuntary step back, as shocked as I am by his cruel retort. But then she takes it to heart. Watching the pain grow in her eyes makes me shake with rage.

"You're right," she whispers, confirming my interpretation of her expression. Obviously _his_ meanness has not only been forgiven, but forgotten, too.

He laughs, pleased to have won this admission from her. "I forgive you. Just try not to get _too_ mad at me. Because I'm not giving up. There really is something irresistible about a lost cause."

"Jacob," she says firmly, everything about her deadly serious as she stares into his dark eyes. "I love _Edward_. He's my whole life." Her unwavering conviction gives me strength. I feel like I can breathe again. She is my whole life, too.

"You love _me_ , too," he reminds her; then he holds up his hand when she starts to protest. "Not the same way, I know." _So you_ say, he thinks, knowing that she'll be being even more careful with what she says to him because I'm listening in. "But he's not your whole life, either. Not anymore. Maybe he was once, but he _left_. And now he's just going to have to deal with the consequence of that choice— _me._ "

She shakes her head, and I'm relieved that she has a ready answer for such a painful truth (and equally relieved that she and I have made peace with my leaving). "You're impossible."

Suddenly, _he_ is the serious one. He takes her chin in his hand—this time, she lets him—and stares deep into her eyes. She stares back, looking just as intense, and every second is like a red-hot poker being stabbed through my chest.

"Until your heart stops beating, Bella," he declares passionately. "I'll be here—fighting. Don't forget that you have options."

"I don't want options," she disagrees, finally trying to free herself from his grasp—but he doesn't let go. "My heartbeats are numbered, Jacob," she warns, and I have to hope she is exaggerating for his sake. I didn't think I could hate him more, but the thought of her rushing into the change to put him out of his misery makes biting him and watching him suffer a slow, painful death something I'd actually enjoy.

His eyes narrow. "All the more reason to fight—fight harder now, while I can," he whispers.

"You don't have to fight," she argues. "Seth and Edward are _friends_. Edward saved—"

"He's the reason Seth phased so young, and probably the reason Leah phased at all."

"If you're going to blame anyone," she retorts, "blame _me_."

He snorts softly and shakes his head. "No one blames you, Bella, honey," he murmurs, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "You always see the good in everyone."

As he takes this opportunity to express his feelings for her in another way, there is something he's trying desperately not to think about—and then Bella exhales softly and her lips part ever so slightly.

His intent to kiss her— _intent_ , not simply _desire_ , for he always feels that—cuts through my every thought. I hesitate, not quite believing that he'd actually force a kiss on her, but he figures that I'm already on my way and throws all rational thought out the window. I start running before his lips touch hers, but there's nothing I can do as he traps her within his embrace.

She gasps and I know she's trying to pull away, but he mistakes her struggling for responsiveness and holds her more tightly, kissing her more deeply. I want to call out, to yell at him to get his hands and his lips off her, but I can't control myself enough to speak.

When she can't break free, she abruptly becomes a statue. The tactic reminds him of me, which he hates, but he takes advantage nonetheless, pressing another couple of kisses to her lips before finally pulling back.

The moment her arms are free, she draws her right arm back and punches him square on the jaw. Her knuckles grind against his solid jawbone and she cries out in pain. I'm pretty sure she's broken something. I have never been more torn in two than I am at this moment—the need to care for Bella's injury wars with the need to rip the loathsome mutt limb from limb.

Of course, Bella's needs win.

Jacob is still focused on her—it takes him a moment to realise that she is howling with pain, not rage—so I could've easily caught him off guard. But I fight the near-overpowering urge to crush his skull between my hands and do my best to ignore him completely as I move between him and her.

She looks up at me, eyes swimming with tears, and the guilt in her eyes sends my rage to dizzying new heights. She has nothing to feel guilty about.

Cradling her hand in both of mine, I run my fingers across her knuckles. "There might be a break," I murmur, keeping my voice low to hide the intensity of my rage. "I'm sorry I didn't get here in time."

"It's not _your_ fault," she replies, anger and pain clear in her voice.

"Bella, I'm sorry you hurt your hand," Jacob says—except his amusement is blatantly obvious in his voice and he isn't the least bit sorry for the action that incited her anger.

"Let's go," she says to me, ignoring him; then she adds, "Carry me?" and I take immense pleasure in lifting her in my arms and holding her close.

Jacob watches her bury her face in the crook of my neck with bitterness; the joy of kissing her has faded enough that he can see now how upset she is. This desperate act will cost him. He has overplayed his hand.

"Bella!" he calls after us, starting to follow. "I didn't mean for you to get hurt."

"If that were true," she retorts without looking back at him or raising her voice, "you wouldn't have assaulted me."

He freezes, stunned by the accusation. Experiencing Jacob's agony at her reproach makes me realise that I have never experienced such condemnation from her; even when she'd been angry at me for breaking my promise to explain my superhuman speed and strength (the angriest she has ever been with me), she hadn't been so harsh. I am glad that he feels it, because he deserves to feel shame after using his strength against her, although he doesn't feel it anywhere near as deeply as he should. Partly because he is young and doesn't realise just how wrong he was, but mainly because he is confident (and I suspect that he is correct) that Bella will forgive him. (After all, she has forgiven me for an infinitely more painful transgression.)

My one consolation is that she will surely be known as my bride-to-be by then.

I increase my pace slowly but steadily, until I'm moving as fast as I can without jostling her. "Carlisle's on night shift tonight, so he should be at home," I say, knowing she'll be glad we won't have to go to the hospital. "I'll call him when we get back to the car."

She nods and then presses her lips against my neck for a second, before freezing and pulling back; does she feel tainted by Jacob's kisses?

"I'm sorry," I murmur. "I should've been closer."

She shakes her head. "Not your fault," she repeats—though it _is_ my fault that Jacob thinks he has a right to kiss her (that he thinks she has feelings for him, too). "We both trusted him more than he deserved."

I like that assessment—it excuses me and makes him absolutely the bad guy. Though I could never glory in her pain, Jacob has now betrayed her trust, too, which puts us on more equal terms.

"I'm sorry I smell like dog," she adds softly.

I kiss her forehead. "You have nothing to apologise for—and you actually don't smell that bad."

"Oh?"

I give her a small smile. "You still smell more of me—I made sure of that before you left."

She ponders that for a moment, then asks, "When you breathed into my hair?"

"Yes."

She chuckles, and I am freshly impressed by her resilience. "Good," she says firmly.

I call Carlisle as soon as I start the car. Fortunately, he is at home and has plenty of time before his shift. Bella is too distracted to keep her usual eye on my speed; after reversing back out to the highway, I dare to creep up to 75, frustrated that I let Jacob take us so far from home.

Bella is silent, cradling her injured hand. I don't know what to say, so it's a relief when I start hearing Carlisle's thoughts. While he prepares for the arrival of his patient, I describe the plan to Bella so that she knows what to expect—and for something to say.

Rosalie and Emmett are also home; Rosalie is working on the Jeep's engine, swapping out a few parts to give it even more grunt. When they hear the sound of my car, they immediately register that I'm driving slowly—which means Bella is with me. Emmett isn't bothered (she is always with me, and he's fine with that), but Rosalie lets fly with the usual complaints. She makes sure she's underneath the car when I pull into the garage.

As I help Bella out of the car, Emmett eyes her injured hand with amusement.

"Fall down again, Bella?" he teases.

She scowls at him, not appreciating the joke. "No, Emmett. I punched a werewolf in the face."

Emmett blinks, and then bursts into a roar of laughter.

"Jasper's going to win the bet," Rosalie says smugly from under the car, speaking deliberately loudly to ensure that Bella hears her.

Emmett stops laughing and appraises Bella with fresh consideration, wondering if he _is_ at risk of losing the bet.

Bella stops walking. "What bet?" she demands.

" _Thanks_ , Rosalie," I mutter, even as I try to figure out a way of distracting Bella from my brothers' unpleasant wager.

" _Edward?_ " Bella presses, looking close to demanding an explanation right here in front of them.

Between Bella's stubbornness and Rosalie's determination to show Bella exactly what life she's choosing, I can't see a way of avoiding the truth. So I give in; I nod, and then pull her past the Jeep, towards the house.

"It's infantile," I say with a shrug, trying to belittle it as much as I can. "Emmett and Jasper like to gamble." I lead her inside before finally answering her question. "They're betting on how many times you… slip up in the first year."

"Oh," she murmurs, grimacing. "They have a bet about how many people I'll kill?"

"Yes," I admit, ashamed of their lack of compassion (as is Carlisle, who regrets that Bella has learned of the bet, but he doesn't blame Rosalie for her maliciousness). "Rosalie thinks your temper will turn the odds in Jasper's favour."

"Jasper's betting high."

"It will make him feel better if you have a hard time adjusting," I explain, hoping she will understand without thinking any less of him. "He's tired of being the weakest link."

"Sure. Of course. I guess I could throw in a few extra homicides, if it makes Jasper happy," she babbles, shock clear in her voice. "Why not?"

I spare a hand to stroke her cheek. "You don't need to worry about it now," I murmur. I am tempted to remind her that she doesn't _ever_ have to worry about it , but that would only irritate her.

She manages a smile for Carlisle's sake when we enter the impromptu hospital he's set up in our dining room. He makes a thorough assessment of her hand, arm, shoulder, and spine, finding only a very thin crack in one knuckle, which is a great relief for all of us. Bella refuses a cast, but Carlisle thinks a brace will be fine as long as she keeps it on. She can't promise him fast enough.

Almost as soon as the brace is in place, in the same breath after thanking Carlisle, she asks me to take her home. I can't help wondering if it's the bet making her feel uncomfortable here, but of course it could just as easily be Jacob's behaviour upsetting her or the painkillers making her tired.

I'm afraid she will ask me to drop her off and then leave, but she settles that worry before we even reach the highway when she asks if I wouldn't mind staying after Charlie gets home, even if it means I have to eat with them. I make sure she knows I'd like nothing more—and I'd stay all night with Charlie's full knowledge if that would help her feel better.

Charlie's mood sours the moment he sees my car. When she tells him what happened, though, he _laughs_. I feel a surge of fury. How can he laugh about a man the size of Jacob forcing himself on his daughter? Does he hate me _that much_? Bella had been so completely overpowered that her only option was to stop struggling and wait it out (or wait for rescue), and it made her so angry that she punched him with all her strength. Yet her loving father finds it as amusing as Jacob did.

He sees my anger—and Bella's—and feels somewhat guilty for laughing, but he is still wholly untroubled by Jacob's assault. I try to give him the benefit of the doubt because he is blinded by Jacob's boyish charms (no doubt reinforced by Bella's inner strength), but as a policeman, a grown man, and Bella's father, I can't excuse him.

Naturally, Bella says Jacob's name over and over in her sleep. It's a relief when she says she wishes she'd been strong enough to break his jaw. But that's nothing to my satisfaction when she says she'll get _me_ to break his jaw. I know her ruthlessness won't stretch to that admission consciously, but it's nice to know she really is that angry with him.

Especially when she suddenly starts apologising.

"I don't feel the same way," she murmurs, after an ominously lengthy pause. "My heart belongs to Edward."

She doesn't speak again, and I'm glad that she ended on that note because she said _his_ name so many times and _mine_ only twice.

I can't help kissing her as soon as she awakens. My desperation must be obvious because she pulls back almost immediately.

"What did I say?" she asks guiltily.

I stroke her cheek. "Do you remember your dream?"

"No," she murmurs uncertainly. Then, " _Tell me_."

"You said you'll get _me_ to break his jaw," I say, trying to start with a joke, but she isn't amused. "And then you apologised and said you don't feel the same way."

She eyes my face for a long moment. "That's all?" she asks, obviously confused by my distress.

"You said his name a lot," I admit, hoping it won't make her feel too bad.

Her face falls, but then she cups my cheek with her uninjured hand. "Edward, I love _you_. Only you. Jacob is— _was_ ," she amends crossly—"my friend. I care about him, and I feel bad that he has feelings for me, but that's all. I'm not in love with him."

I appreciate her attempts to reassure me, but the pall of the night is still hanging over me. I force a smile onto my lips, but she sees through the façade.

"I'm sorry I said his name," she goes on, ignoring me when I try to interrupt. "If I had to listen to you saying _Tanya's_ name—" she huffs at my bemusement—"I'd hate it."

"That's hardly the same—"

Bella squares her jaw. "She fancies you _and_ she made you an offer, didn't she?" Her eyes suddenly flash. "Did she kiss you?"

"No, of course not!" She cracks a smile at my vehement denial, perhaps amused by the involuntary stiffness in my tone. "I told you I'd never kissed anyone," I remind her.

"If _she_ kissed _you_ , that's technically still true."

I feel guilty that my past evasiveness has made her conscious of such technicalities. "I would've told you that—please don't think I've kept anything from you."

"I don't. I didn't mean to imply—"

I press my lips to hers; we seem to be in perfect agreement, so the conversation is just prolonging the agony for us both. "I know," I say. "Can we please talk about something else?"

She nods, and as I cast about for a topic, I think of something I've not asked her yet.

"Will you take my name when you become my wife?"

She looks a little thrown by the question, and I suddenly realise that now isn't a good time—she might feel impelled to agree.

"Whatever you choose is—"

"Edward," she interrupts. "I want to be part of your family—and _Bella Cullen_ has a nice ring to it."

"Yes, it does," I agree, before capturing her lips in a dangerously passionate kiss.

She responds eagerly; even so, I can't help dwelling on the contrast between my hard, ice-cold lips and his soft, warm lips. Is _she_ thinking about that, too?

Now that she knows what she's missing, my kisses must surely fall short.

I give a little sigh, and she pauses. Her lips curve into a smile, but then she notices something amiss in my face.

"What's wrong?" she murmurs. "Is it—?" she breaks off. "Do I still smell like dog?"

"No," I assure her, knowing that's not what she's really asking (because she does still smell a little, despite the long shower she took last night). I take a deep breath and tell myself that not knowing what she's thinking is worse. "My lips aren't warm…" _like Jacob's_.

Her eyes widen. " _That's_ what's upsetting you?" I don't know what to say; my silence confirms it. She huffs out a breath, then strokes my cheek. "I love you, and your lips, and your eyes, and everything else about you. I want you more than anyone has ever wanted anyone else, and I love you exactly as you are."

It's glorious to hear such an ardent declaration of her love for me. Jacob's kisses haven't swayed her one bit. I want to share the feeling of joy. "As I love you," I reply, "exactly as you are. Human, or vampire."

She smiles radiantly, but there is a fresh tension in her body. Is my brothers' stupid bet preying on her mind? Blasted Rosalie.

"Rosalie's wrong about your temper making it harder for you," I murmur, hoping to comfort her, whatever she's thinking. "I think you are every bit as determined as Carlisle. Whatever you set your mind to, you succeed at."

She smiles and the tension disappears. "I got _you_ ," she jokes.

"Yes," I agree, trying not to let my guilt at the pain my stubbornness has caused diminish my happiness. "I'm yours."

Her heart thuds loudly, and I realise there's a _physical_ element to that truth that we have yet to explore.

Perhaps I'm risking the careful line I've drawn between us physically, but I pull her against me—fully on top of me—and press our lips together. She responds with equal passion, and I am well rewarded for my recklessness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Dependant**

I am pleasantly surprised that Bella is wearing the brace when she exits the house in the morning. But then she starts unclipping it the moment her seatbelt is secure. I get one word out before she cuts me off.

"No," she says firmly, pre-empting my opposition. "I'm not giving them another reason to gossip about me."

"Your hand is more important," I reply, not letting her be so dismissive of her body's needs; but before I can expostulate further, Alice's thoughts interrupt me. She is running a different line than usual to meet us, so she can share her visions of the coming day with me.

If Bella wears the brace, Lauren will spread the rumour that Bella got hurt trying to break up a fight between Jacob and me. If we shut her down, the school's gossip mill will either find something almost as bad or eventually goad Bella into snapping that she "punched someone". So Alice gently concludes that the best option is letting Bella forgo the brace, and I'm reassured by her confidence that we can protect her from overexertion.

"I'll be careful," Bella wheedles.

"All right—if you let me take notes for you."

"Deal," she agrees happily, shoving the brace onto the floor beneath her seat. "I'll put it on again after school."

I nod, accepting that, and then slow the car so Alice can hop in without causing a jolt.

She grins at Bella. "How's my favourite sister?" she gushes by way of greeting.

Bella smiles at _her_ favourite sister, but her eyes are wary. "Morning, Alice."

"I only have one question today," Alice promises, planning to use one of her 'distraction' questions to help take Bella's mind off her injury and the potential fall-out if anyone at school notices it.

" _One_ or one _lead_ one?"

I give Bella a smile while Alice chuckles at the apt question.

" _One_ ," Alice confirms. "Where would you like to have the ceremony?"

Bella's expression darkens in a flash and she glares at our little menace. "At your house," she insists, before looking back to me to confirm my agreement.

"But what about a _castle_?" Alice suggests, picturing an imposing tower of stone surrounded by beautiful manicured gardens and woodland forests.

"Our house is fine with me," I say before she can get carried away.

She sticks her tongue out at me, but otherwise surrenders because she can see that she'll still get her distraction by describing her favourite castle. "Fine," she tells Bella, "but I'm having _my_ next wedding in a castle and you're going to be my bridesmaid and wear whatever I want you to."

"Sure," Bella agrees flippantly, and we're both a little startled—I thought her disastrous 18th birthday party had cemented her dislike permanently—though Alice immediately comes up with an explanation: Bella is assuming she'll be a vampire by then, so she is comfortable with whatever spectacle she has to be part of.

I don't know how to feel about that—Bella's current undeservedly low opinion of herself is probably the main reason she dreads being the centre of attention—so I focus on the positive: living with Alice might be a lot easier for Bella than I've been anticipating. (I'd been thinking that, if not for their special fondness for each other, their differences would cause more discord in the family than Rosalie and I do.)

To extend the conversation, Alice recounts her visit to Schloss Neuschwanstein in Bavaria, one of the most beautiful castles in the world, with its fairy-tale exterior, exquisite murals, abundant homages to swans, artificial dripstone cave room, and million-tile mosaic floor in the throne room. Bella listens with an air of rapture, which is no doubt furthered by the opportunity to avoid the topic of our wedding for the entire car ride.

Thanks to our seeming normality, school progresses without a hitch; even Angela notices nothing amiss in Bella's reduced use of her right hand. Then, true to her word, on the way home from school, Bella retrieves the brace from under her seat and fixes it back in place without requiring any encouragement.

We've only been at Bella's for three minutes when my phone rings; I'd just placed it onto the kitchen table, so Bella can also see that it's Seth calling.

" _How's Bella?_ " he asks the moment I answer; the concern in his voice implies he's seen Jacob's memory.

"Fractured knuckle," I reply, exaggerating ever so slightly.

" _Damn_ ," he mutters. " _I thought it looked bad_."

Bella tugs on my arm, so I hold the phone out for her. She taps the 'speaker' button. "I'm still pissed at him," she says hotly. "He better not be bragging about it."

" _He won't when he hears you got hurt_ ," Seth says, implying that he _is_.

"He's a thoughtless _child_ ," she fumes. "An arrogant, selfish _brat_!" She exhales sharply, then shakes her head, shedding some of the anger. "I'm sorry you had to see it, Seth."

" _Your right hook was way better than his usual daydreams_ ," Seth jokes, then apologises when she groans. " _I'll make sure he knows not to show his face tomorrow._ "

The implication that Jacob intends to turn up while we're at the Clearwaters' tomorrow evening makes us both frown.

"Thanks, Seth," I say before Bella can answer, just in case she _would_ want to see him—because my temper couldn't handle it, and there's no way I'm leaving her alone with him (even with Seth and/or Sue present). "I wouldn't want to put my Rez pass in jeopardy by ripping his limbs off on Quileute land."

" _No one would blame you. I'll back you_."

"Me, too," Bella growls, and I feel decidedly better about my selfishness; her anger excuses it.

" _Hope you heal fast, Bells_ ," Seth says.

"Thanks," she murmurs, her voice still rough. "See you tomorrow."

Seth and I say goodbye and I hang up. After putting the phone down, I wrap her in my arms. She throws her arms around my neck and buries her face in my chest. I can feel her tenseness; after half a minute, she lets the anger out. Her wordless growls send tremors through my whole body.

"You have every right to be angry," I murmur.

"I _am_ ," she replies. Then she raises her head. "What makes him think he didn't do anything wrong?" she snaps.

I get the feeling she's asking rhetorically, but the fact that I could technically answer her means I'm not sure what she wants from me. But I don't think I can bring myself to explain or even describe his thoughts to her right now, no matter how much she might want that.

My face must be projecting my distress, for her eyes widen as they focus on me. "I'm not asking _you_ ," she assures me. "I don't want to know what he was thinking—I'm sorry that you do. I wish you weren't there."

"I don't!" I exclaim, shocked that she feels that way. "If you'd had to walk all that way back—if I'd gone home without you and then found out—" I can't even express the agony I know I would have felt because I feel it just as strongly now, for failing to protect her.

She presses three fingers over my lips and I do my best to release the tension in my body. "It wasn't your fault," she repeats gently, before shifting her hand to rest on my shoulder. "I didn't realise we'd walked so far, but even if I had, I never thought he'd do something like that. He never tried to kiss me before."

I nod, letting her close the subject (because I know the only reason he hadn't already instigated a kiss was that he thought he had the time to wait for _her_ to make the first move—and he'd been confident she eventually would, given the offer she'd made him when he told her they couldn't be friends anymore). "How's the hand?" I ask, refocusing the conversation away from Jacob.

"Fine," she replies; then she suddenly smiles. "You deliberately made it sound worse than it is."

"I considered raising it to a broken finger," I say, returning her smile in spite of the predominantly negative feelings that prompted the exaggeration.

Her laughter cheers my spirits like nothing else ever could, and it feels especially sweet given that I inspired it. "Tempting," she jokes, before sobering. "But a knuckle ought to be enough."

"I suppose we'll see," I murmur, wondering what sort of apology gift he'll send this time—and whether it will be as effective as those damned wooden sunflowers (which are still in pride of place on her bookshelf).

Bella heaves a little sigh, then glances at her schoolbag, which is sitting open on the nearest chair. "Homework?" she suggests.

"Actually," I murmur, "I have a wedding-related question, if that's all right?"

"Is it your _own_ question or has Alice got you doing her dirty work?"

"My own," I promise. "About the music for the ceremony."

She smiles and her eyes actually seem to sparkle. "Ask away."

"Would you like something traditional to walk down the aisle to, or something new?"

She ponders the question for five seconds, then asks, "Have you got anything in mind?"

"I've been thinking of a few new melodies, but I could just as easily use them in the background music for when we're signing the marriage certificate."

"You mean, record you playing it, then play the recording?" I nod. "I'd like that," she agrees, smiling.

"For walking down the aisle, or the signing, or both?"

The bottom lip disappears behind her teeth as she thinks more deeply into it. "Something recognisable might be nice for the aisle—but not too clichéd?"

"I could write a variation of a traditional piece," I suggest, voicing another idea I've been considering; "Pachelbel's Canon, perhaps?"

"How does that one go?" she asks, a little smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

I hum the melody for her for half a minute, and all the while, her smile grows.

"Beautiful," she praises. "Have you already got some ideas for reworking it?"

"A couple," I confirm. "I can play them for you in the weekend."

"Sounds perfect," she agrees. "As long as Alice can leave us alone for five minutes."

I can't help chuckling at that. "You might have to give her something to work with if you want that."

She wrinkles her nose and then drops her forehead onto my shoulder, relaxing more of her weight on me so that she is as comfortable standing as she would be sitting. "Like what?" she murmurs resignedly.

"How about we go through the gift register?"

" _Ugh_ ," she groans, raising her head again. "Did you see that _thousand-page_ list of all the things she wants to put on it? It's ridiculous—we don't need anyone to buy us anything."

The exaggeration amuses me because she has no idea that there were various electronic lists totally several hundred pages before Alice whittled it down to her "top" ideas. "Let's keep it simple, then," I suggest. "We could suggest that people donate to charity on our behalf."

Her eyes light up. "That's brilliant!"

"Alice could put together a list to include with the invitation."

"That sounds a million times better than plates and oven dishes and _full spectrum lamps_!" she replies, venting slightly. "What _are_ full spectrum lamps?"

"Lamps with bulbs that recreate daylight as closely as possible."

"Oh. I thought they were called daylight lamps."

"They often are—full spectrum lighting is basically just the superior version. I can provide the technical definition if you'd like."

She chuckles. "Thanks, but I'll pass."

"I thought you might," I murmur as she relaxes against me once more.

I could stay like this forever, and now that Bella will one day be immune to my coldness, I can look forward to a time when she will be equally comfortable. Right now, though, I find myself particularly keen to enjoy her warmth and her gentle, rhythmic pulse before they're gone forever. Bella seems equally content, so we probably embrace much too long for her physical comfort, but she doesn't shiver so I hope we aren't being careless.

Before Charlie gets home, we squeeze in some homework—I serve as scribe for us both—and then I watch as she "throws together" a spaghetti bolognese. I recognise her relaxed approach from a few of the food shows I've been watching in ten-minute bursts most nights, so I find myself imagining how she'd fare with something that requires finesse. I am tempted to ask if she's ever attempted a complicated dish, but I am loath to reveal the depth of my interest in her cooking—she isn't likely to miss the underlying significance of my sudden attentiveness—and she is so practical and focused on others and the purpose of her cooking that I'm inclined to assume she has never 'indulged' in the kitchen. Unless Renée ever got it into her head to become a pastry chef—which is actually a strong possibility… I picture Bella trying to rescue her impetuous mother's doomed creations.

When Bella looks across at me, I smile automatically, but my amusement must have enhanced it beyond my intent because she freezes for half second, dazzled. It still thrills me that I have that effect on her. I hope I will be able to dazzle her when she is a vampire, too, though I suppose the effect won't be nearly as powerful. But I shrug off that thought before it can depress me. I don't want to pre-empt what Bella will be like as a vampire—there are far too many negatives among the myriad possibilities.

Following our standard routine (and despite my arguably irrational unwillingness to leave her while she's injured), I depart before Charlie arrives. Bella gives me a lingering goodbye kiss that carries me through the walk back to my car. No matter what the future holds, I can't wait for the day we never have to part. That thought puts me in mind of our honeymoon, which sends thrills _and_ chills up my spine.

Back when Bella and Alice were at odds over the wedding, Bella gave me sole jurisdiction over the vacation that follows it—I don't know if she regrets that now, but she hasn't mentioned it and I hope she trusts me enough to enjoy the mystery. So I spend the journey home thinking through the minimum requirements for any location—private, warm, and sunny are the obvious ones, but how remote is too remote? How hot is too hot? And heat often goes hand in hand with rain, particularly in August…

My list is still woefully incomplete when I arrive at home. Alice turns up nine seconds later; she heard our wedding ideas and is excited about the gift register of charities, but that's not why she wants to talk. She wants to remind me that Rosalie is the second-best pianist in the family.

"I should ask her to play for us," I murmur unwillingly, already anticipating all the trouble that is bound to stir up.

Of course, Alice nods. _She wants to talk to Bella more than you, though_.

"I know," I mutter, thinking of her opposition to Bella choosing to throw her life away.

"No, that's not exactly it," she says, guessing my misassumption as she shows me Rosalie's greatest issue—that Bella is throwing away the chance to be a mother.

It is the last thing I want to expose Bella to. How can either of us respond to that? Bella will trot out her thoughtless response that she doesn't want kids, but I know from experience that that reasoning is fatally flawed (Esme deserves at least a thousand _I told you so_ 's for all the times I insisted I was neither lonely nor unfulfilled as the bachelor of the family).

 _Would you want kids?_

I shake my head, rejecting the question. "I think I've tortured myself enough without asking that question."

 _Debatable_ , Alice teases.

"All I want is for Bella to be happy."

Alice purses her lips. "I want that, too," she insists. _I haven't said anything about asking the minister._

I don't appreciate the reminder—because we haven't announced our engagement yet, we can't actually book anything. Bella doesn't seem concerned, but it frustrates Alice, even though she knows it won't actually compromise anything on the day. But then she thinks about the one thing that would have been affected, and I discover that she secretly ordered Bella's wedding dress (and her own and Esme's dresses) just under a year ago, before prom!

" _Really?_ " I say, questioning the need for such advance planning.

"Bella will love her dress," she insists. Nothing will convince her that she wasn't right to plan ahead.

"Will you tell her how long ago you ordered it?"

 _Not this year_. Then she shifts the subject by thinking about the day the three dresses will arrive, in a month's time. _You and Seth should clear off for the day_.

"That makes a change," I murmur; she has never encouraged me to spend time with Seth before.

She manages a smile. _I want you happy—Seth is best at that right now_. That thought is accompanied by mixed feelings, jealousy strongest among them. She had arguably been the most important person in my life for decades, and she hadn't minded in the slightest when Bella took that honour last year, but Seth is a stranger to her—no, more than that, he is a complete unknown.

"Are you going to wait till the wedding to meet him?"

 _No_. She thinks about all the wolves that will (potentially) be there, then shudders. _I'll meet him before then; just give me a few more weeks_.

"Of course. I understand," I assure her. "If I were cut off from everyone's thoughts, not just Bella's, I don't know how I'd manage."

Alice shakes her head. _Try being cut off from your_ own _thoughts as well as everyone else's_ , she suggests, amending the comparison to reflect the total darkness she sees in her future. The date is uncertain, but the total blinding effect of a wolf seems guaranteed.

"Maybe when you get to know them—"

"I doubt it," Alice says gloomily.

I take her hand, sympathetic to her despondency because I would have abandoned my woeful drawing attempts without Alice's vision to keep me going. "I am sorry."

"Thanks." She heaves a sigh, then shakes off the melancholy. She has seen Esme and me enjoying a fruitful conversation, so she encourages me to visit Esme in the little cottage she's renovating as a birthday/wedding present for Bella and me. For herself, she will return to Jasper and Emmett, who are "hunting" in Goat Rocks Wilderness (their focus shifted from bears to _high jump_ hours ago).

We say goodbye and then Alice races off south-east while I head north. I'm not in any rush—there's still 12 minutes before I intend to be back at Bella's—but why walk when you can run? So I sprint the eight miles to Esme in less than a minute.

Her thoughts are a pleasant distraction from the contemplation of Alice's rapid adjustment to the wolf-induced blindness. Esme loves the little stone cottage she intends to renovate for us, even in its dilapidated state. Everywhere she looks, she sees so much possibility. And she thinks it is perfect for us. Alice is of the opinion that it should be bigger (a _lot_ bigger), but Esme knows Bella has a fondness for character over scale, and she knows I don't care. (She's especially pleased that I've taken up a visual pursuit because she knows I naturally focus more on sound, and the intangible, so she thinks I overlook a whole world of art. Although I appreciate her perspective, and I see the beauty in her ideas for restoring this unloved little cottage, I don't see why I need to _care_ about how I dress or what my house looks like.)

When I catch the first glimpse of the roof (which is currently more _hole_ than _tile_ ), I slow to a walk. "Esme?"

She freezes, then immediately protests my presence. "Stop where you are!" she cries, racing out of the house to meet me.

I hold up my hands. "I know, I know. I'm not allowed inside—"

 _Not allowed within a hundred miles!_ , she teasingly exaggerates, waving me back. "Shoo!"

"Will you come with me?"

She sets her hands on her hips and her expression into a frown (but her thoughts are teasing). "I'm busy, and you're not supposed to see my ideas." _I was hoping to make it a surprise for you, too_.

"I _am_ sorry—but you know I don't care about that."

She grins, relenting. _You hate surprises!_ She thinks about taking my arm as we stroll through the trees, so I hold out my arm for her.

As we walk, she sets out her terms—she won't try to avoid thinking about the house as long as I make no comment on her thoughts, unless I _really_ don't like something (as if that were at all likely!), and as long as I stay at least a mile away from the house.

"Suits me," I say. "And I won't tell Bella… even though she hates surprises more than I do."

Esme rolls her eyes at me. " _Everyone_ hates unwelcome surprises, Wadie," she teases, thinking that Bella is not remotely paranoid (unlike _me_ ).

"I take your point," I concede. "I _am_ paranoid—if I didn't have advance warning from thoughts, I wouldn't be able to cope at all."

 _What's brought this on?_ , she thinks, surprised by the depth of my self-abasement.

"Alice," I reply. "She was more thrown by the wolves' effect on her gift than I was by Bella's immunity to mine, and I thought I understood why—because it is genuinely scary to see that blackness—but I only just realised that she isn't paralysed by it. The wolves are strangers to her, but she isn't afraid of them."

Esme agrees with 80% of my assessment. "The wolves aren't strangers," she points out. _You and Bella know them_.

"If I couldn't hear their thoughts, I don't think I'd be able to trust them."

"Not even Seth?"

"Maybe Seth," I allow. "But I'm too close to him now to consider it either way."

 _Carlisle and I are so happy for you both_ , she thinks, even as she considers how to respond to my introspection. "We all have our weaknesses," she murmurs after a moment, thinking of that fateful choice she'd made to end her life, remembering the feeling of having no will to live—and then finding all the will she'd ever need in Carlisle's beautiful face. "Like mine," she concludes lightly, flipping the depressing memories on their head, "yours became your strength."

I like the way she pictures it—my gift has turned a potentially crippling weakness into an unequivocal asset, for myself and for my family.

"I'm glad you're embracing your gift," she goes on. _You were too conscious of it before—you lived inside your own head_.

The imagery intrigues me. "You've never thought of it like that before."

 _It wasn't until Bella came along that I saw it in that way—when you started changing._ She thinks of the alternative ways she'd viewed it in the past, that she'd simply thought me too serious or standoffish—or disdainful.

"I heard all of _that_ ," I joke, making her laugh.

 _It didn't affect you at all, did it?_ , she jokes back.

"Only in a good way," I reply, remembering in particular all those times we'd attended parties and she'd dragged me away from the wall and made me dance with her; in our own home, her encouragements had taken a different form, but they'd been just as effective. "If not for you, I would have learned a dozen languages without speaking to a single person."

She laughs, remembering our first holiday—the first time either of us had set foot outside the United States—when she'd dragged me (Carlisle had gone willingly) to the Paris International Exposition in 1937 and made me act as her interpreter while she chatted with what felt like every person in town. "You saved me from all the boring stuff and I saved you from yourself."

"Thank you," I murmur earnestly; she may be teasing, but her words are absolutely true.

She squeezes my arm. "Thank _you_ , my darling." She considers herself truly blessed to be part of my family, and privileged to call herself my mother (or sister, as she was in the 1930s and 40s).

"The privilege is all mine. I really don't understand why you and Carlisle and Bella think I'm so amazing."

 _Because you_ are, she immediately replies, thinking of my goodness and my virtuosity in everything I attempt.

"Sure, I'm gifted," I agree airily, "but if I didn't have those gifts, I'd be useless."

"Are you calling _me_ useless, Wadie?" she asks, posing the rhetorical question in order to refute my conclusion.

"Never. But my gifts are all simple—showy acts with little substance. You have many more praiseworthy gifts than I, but yours are more of the sorts that often go unlabelled, which means unrecognised."

 _Nonsense_ , she replies, even as she agrees with me from a general perspective about the 'hidden' nature of many vital talents, without which life would be so much harder and less rewarding. "You have those gifts, too," she says, thinking of my integrity, determination, passion, thoughtfulness, discretion, generosity, among many others, matched with a total lack of corruptness or cruelty. "Which is why you and Bella are so perfect for each other," she adds happily, thinking of Bella's similar nature.

"I owe much of it to you and Carlisle."

"True," she teases. _And we enjoy the reflected glory_. Their most recent proud moment derives from my impressive self-control in Bella's recent strife; Esme commends me for not seeking vengeance for Jacob's assault. In the back of her mind, she can't help expressing surprise that I didn't ditch the Volvo and race straight back to Bella, even as she asks after the condition of her hand _._

"I think it's fine. Bella's downplaying it as usual, and I'm trying not to make a fuss."

 _I'm glad you stopped by_.

"I intend to be back in nine minutes," I warn her, trying to make a joke out of my pitiful company (thankfully, she isn't surprised; she'd actually expected my timeframe to be narrower).

She grins. "A veritable _eternity_." Her thoughts turn to the upcoming events that give time its meaning right now—our graduation in six and a half weeks (which she is far more excited about than Bella or I), our wedding, and Bella's first college experience.

"Alice sees our Dartmouth acceptance letters arriving tomorrow," I tell her, "but Bella will be just as determined to go to Alaska."

Esme laughs. "Snob," she teases. _Why does it matter where you go?_

"Academically, Dartmouth—"

 _Blah, blah, blah_. "New Hampshire _is_ lovely. Would you like me to talk to her?" _Or to Renée_ …

The offer is tempting, but I shake my head. "You're right; if Bella wants to go to Alaska, that's where we'll go. She's already agreeing to more than she's comfortable with over the wedding."

 _She's not a fan of attention, but she'll have a wonderful day_ , Esme promises. "Alice is determined that you're both happy with everything."

"I could do without the interrogations about seating and decorations and photos and music—and, and, and."

 _I thought you were in charge of the music_.

"Only for the ceremony. She's been asking about bands and songs—and ordering of songs—for the reception. She must have two days' worth by now."

Esme chuckles. "You should be grateful she hasn't got involved in the composition—she could be commenting on every melody as you develop it."

"Please don't give her ideas."

That makes her laugh. _My lips are sealed_ , she jokes. "You and Bella will be grateful for her intervention when Renée gets involved—it's going to be a challenge to rein her in." _She's already ringing me for weekly updates_.

"I thought those calls were about building a relationship with you."

"They are, but the wedding is taking up an ever greater portion of our conversation…" She runs through Renée's main topics for me; they're mostly self-focused at the moment—her dress, makeup, and hair, travelling to Forks, wedding presents, her financial contribution—but that is changing, and Esme thinks she'll be solely focused on the wedding the moment graduation is over (aided by the fact that she will be in Forks for graduation).

"Thanks for the warning," I mutter; then I have to defend myself from her teasing accusations. "I wasn't referring to Renée's visit—I expected her to attend Bella's graduation."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me; I understand." _Her irrepressible exuberance would be exhausting for you even without your gift—I never thought a_ human _could be more excitable than Alice._

"I'm not sure I'd go that far, but almost." We share a grin, though I _am_ dreading the week after graduation; Alice and Renée are bound to feed off each other's natural exuberance—but I trust Esme to be the steadying hand she always is. To focus on the underlying positive, I say, "I do already appreciate Alice's help, and yours. The _one_ thing that's my sole responsibility, I'm struggling with."

 _The honeymoon_.

I nod. "I've been thinking about where we could go, but so far I've only narrowed it down to somewhere private and warm and not too far from—"

 _Isle Esme would be perfect_ , she thinks, wondering if I'm _not_ working up to ask her because I think it's too far from medical help if anything were to happen to Bella (I appreciate that she doesn't for a moment consider injuries _I_ might inflict upon her, even if it's because medical care would be irrelevant in that case).

"The last time you lent out your island to honeymooners, you said never again," I joke, sidestepping the issue of my overprotectiveness momentarily.

"Because Emmett destroyed my house!"

"I can't guarantee—"

"Of course you can, Wadie." _And even if you_ did _break my house, you'd help me fix it_. "If you're worried about Bella, it's really not that far. And she can sleep on the plane." _It'll be nighttime when you arrive, and so romantic!_ She pictures the glorious vista across the water, the sky packed full of stars, the sparkling white sand, the lush tropical forest—which is snake and predator free—and the complete absence of human noise. Thanks to our ability to hear for miles, that last one is something us vampires rarely experience. Esme is confident that her island is now the only such land with temperatures above 76 degrees Fahrenheit, and she hopes it will stay that way (because Carlisle didn't just buy the island landmass, he procured sole ownership of it and of the sea floor for ten nautical miles when he saved the life of the Brazilian president's daughter and was granted special permission).

"I suppose when you put it like that…"

Esme claps, taking my tentative positivity as agreement, and I can't refuse her when she is so delighted to contribute by sharing her island with us. _Bella is going to love it_.

"She might never want to leave."

"For Bella, I can share," she teases, laughing with joy at her anticipation of Bella's happiness—and mine—in the island paradise. She is thrilled to finally share her favourite place with me; I've never visited the island before because it has always been a couple's retreat, so it held no particular appeal for me (and in Esme's opinion, the isolation would have been counterproductive). "I'll contact Gustavo," she enthuses, while wondering what he and his wife Kaure will think about being asked to stock the kitchen for the first time.

They are good people, and careful housekeepers, but Kaure has always been nervous about the family's inhuman appearance; her mother is Ticuna, so she was brought up hearing their legends (which include tales of blood-drinking demons). But Carlisle's and Esme's unmistakeable goodness has eased some of her fear. I've met them once since they became the island's caretakers six years ago; a member of Gustavo's family has been the custodian since Carlisle bought the island in 1938, but that may have to change given that Kaure is bound to notice our agelessness soon.

 _How's your Ticuna?_ , Esme asks, thinking of Kaure's native language, which I studied before meeting her (and it had been invaluable given her wont to flip between the two languages in her thoughts).

"Quase tão bom quanto o meu português," I joke, because thanks to the perfect memory we are all blessed (or cursed) with, I am almost as fluent in Ticuna as Portuguese, despite there being fewer opportunities to use the uncommon language—but Esme's understanding doesn't stretch beyond conversational Portuguese.

"Maravilhoso," she replies cheerfully. _Bet you can't wait to show off for Bella_.

I have to laugh; she knows me so well—in the minute since Esme offered her island for our honeymoon, I'd already apprehended the added bonus of travelling to a foreign-speaking country. "I suppose I _am_ looking forward to that," I allow.

She laughs. _I wonder if she really knows what she's getting with you_ , she suddenly muses, and I can't hide my anxiety as the teasing question cuts to the heart of my biggest fear. "Wadie?"

"What if she _doesn't_ know?" I burst out. "She's choosing this life for _me_ —literally giving up everything for me—but what she's disappointed—?"

Esme stops walking and pulls me into her arms. "Hush," she murmurs. _She knows all she needs to know about you, just as you know her_.

"Maybe," I allow, not convinced by the essentially contradictory statement, "but we don't know how she'll adjust to being a vampire."

"Yes, we do," she argues, pointing out that the timeline doesn't matter: whether it takes a year or a decade—or a single day—she will be Bella again.

"What if I let her down and she ends up killing someone?"

 _Then we'll figure it out together; we've got through it before_.

"Bella's different—"

"Yes," Esme agrees. "She's _strong_." _I have faith in her, just as I have faith in you—I think she'll surprise you. Her will is already as strong as any vampire's_.

"Stronger than _mine_ ," I murmur.

 _Yes, I think so_. She can't help thinking that if Bella had been the one to break up with me, I wouldn't have let her go; I would have become the greatest stalker the world has ever (not) known.

"I already did that," I quip.

She chuckles once, amused despite her sympathy and concern for the extent of my worries, and then starts walking again—this time, in the direction of Bella's house—as she searches for an equally deep truth to combat my understandable but (in her opinion) utterly groundless fear. "Carlisle may have centuries on her, but I already see his resolve in her eyes—I truly believe she will be as invulnerable to the bloodlust as he is."

Her conviction gives me hope. It isn't exactly a new sentiment, but in the past, she has been more focused on her joy for my sake (because the ending of Bella's human life _is_ sad), so I've not felt it so strongly before. "She reminds me a lot of Carlisle, too," I agree, feeling more cheered by the second.

"Yes, and I believe she will be as much of a gift to this world as he is. Bella will be happy. _You_ will be happy." _If you think you know what that feels like, you don't!_

That thought brings a stronger smile to my lips as Esme thinks about the true happiness she has found with Carlisle, and the rest of us. She smiles back, satisfied by her progress; then (unlike Alice, who would struggle to let it go until I swore that my fears were wholly assuaged), she varies the focus of our conversation.

"I have a little job I need help with," she tells me, thinking of her volunteer work around disadvantaged children and youth—she has promised to create something to "jazz up" an old float for the town's Christmas parade, and she thinks a knitted mantle will be perfect (and educational, because in today's modern world, many children don't know how wonderful wool is). "Does Bella know how to knit?"

"I don't know."

 _Oh, I hope she does!_ "She can teach you, or I'll teach you both."

"All right," I reply, comfortable with agreeing now because I'm sure Bella will accept the work—even if she prefers to let me do the knitting while she reads—and learning to knit will provide another avenue for practising a light touch. "I'll ask tonight."

 _I'll ask Alice what she says_ , she thinks, too impatient to wait for the morning to get her answer.

"Alice might not come home tonight," I warn her. "Em and Jazz are in the middle of seeing who can jump the highest without smashing their landing point."

She laughs. _I don't know how I would've coped if you'd been like that_ , she jokes.

"You and I held plenty of competitions while Carlisle was working," I remind her.

 _Not like those two_ , she insists, but she can't fully disagree—she grins as she remembers her favourites among them, including racing me 1,000 miles from Ohio to Florida and back in 1922, only 16 months after her change, while Carlisle was at work, oblivious to our recklessness.

"If you say so," I tease, letting our happy memories fill my thoughts (while also reminding myself that Esme had not only had no warning of what to expect but also a heart full of woe, and yet she had still adjusted to our way of life in less than two years). "I'll call you with the news," I promise. "Even if Bella doesn't want to knit herself, I'm sure she'll be fine with watching us."

"No pressure," Esme says, though she hopes Bella will be keen on the undertaking so she'll get more time with both of us before we disappear for upwards of a month on our honeymoon.

I nod. "I'll make the suggestion and then ask her opinion."

She smiles, pleased, and then shares her initial design thoughts with me as we steadily pick up the pace (she wants to make sure I arrive at Bella's with 30 seconds to spare). Listening to her knitting plans, I am confident it will be simple to learn—I can plait Bella's hair without breaking a single strand, so wool shouldn't be any more difficult to manipulate.

We stop in the trees at the back of Bella's house and Esme gives me a parting hug before heading back the way we've come. I pause another moment to scan the house for its two occupants. Charlie is watching TV in the lounge, and Bella is in her room; I can't hear anything, so I hope she has only just gone upstairs.

Esme is so cheerful, she skips her way back through the trees. I'm glad she is buoyed by our conversation and by the freedom to think as she pleases about the ideas she has for turning the dilapidated cottage into our dream home—so I listen to her plans with relish as I approach the back wall of the Swan residence. There are currently seven rooms in the 19th-century cottage (counting the entryway), but Esme already has a few ideas for tailoring the layout to our needs. She envisages a master bedroom with as large a closet as is feasible (to appease Alice), a library/study/music room, a guest room, a bathroom with separate toilet, a combined kitchen and dining room, and a semi-enclosed back porch that could double as a laundry. She has wonderful ideas for maximising the space and incorporating the modern luxuries without compromising character—like a rain-head shower above a beautiful claw-footed bath big enough for two.

When I climb in Bella's window, it's clear she has just finished changing into her pyjamas after having a shower.

"Perfect timing," she murmurs, smiling, and I eagerly step into her open arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four: Composer**

As Alice had foreseen, there is a fat envelope waiting for Bella after school the next day.

Bella discards it the moment she sees the Dartmouth insignia, so I rescue it before it lands in the trash and open it for her. My comments about New Hampshire's myriad qualities (using Esme's thoughts as inspiration) receive an eye roll in reply, so I up the ante.

"Charlie and Renée would love to have an Ivy League daughter."

"Alaska will be fine—we can go to Dartmouth _next time_ ," she says meaningfully.

I still don't understand her insistence, so I dare to say, "As long as you're not just going to Alaska for my sake."

She huffs out a breath and then rolls her eyes again—because one expression of exasperation is obviously insufficient to convey the full extent of her exasperation. "Edward," she says decisively, "we are going to be _married_." She chuckles softly when I can't resist drawing her into my arms, but isn't sidetracked from the lecture she's building up to (one I no doubt deserve). "It's important we do what's important to _both_ of us—you can't keep putting me first all the time."

For a moment, I'm almost speechless. I'm tempted to challenge her imperfect logic (because her life _is_ more important right now, while she's still human), but I decide to capitalise on the opportunity instead. "I _want_ to go to Dartmouth—I thought I'd made that clear."

"For _your_ sake or for mine?"

"Both," I reply, but the short answer does nothing to quell the doubt in her eyes; she's probably thinking about the fact that I'll have to take night courses, but I don't want to second-guess her. "I'm serious. I think you'll love it there, too. Why are you so against it?"

She drops her gaze, cutting me off from my best access to her feelings, though her squirms are telling.

" _Please_ , Bella," I beg. "I just want to understand."

When she bites her lip, even though she still hasn't looked up, I know she's going to answer me. "I don't want to get locked in," she murmurs self-consciously.

My first thought is, _and yet you're eager to be locked into the existence of the eternal undead?_ But I set that aside (after all, her reluctance implies she anticipated such a reaction) and take a moment to think. "So you think you'll like Dartmouth more than Alaska?" I ask, successfully attaining a light, teasing tone.

She looks up, surprised, then purses her lips. "Alaska will be fine."

"If it's the money, we have a fortune—and we've already saved ten years' worth of tuition fees by declining Alice's most extravagant wedding ideas."

That makes her smile, but she still shakes her head. "I still vote Alaska."

"Alaska it is, then," I murmur, kissing her nose.

"Thank you." She snuggles against me and we embrace in comfortable silence for 23 tranquil heartbeats before she suddenly asks, "Why do you want to go to Dartmouth?"

I find myself wondering whether she'll appreciate my answer more than Esme did. "I think Dartmouth will be more stimulating for both of us, academically and socially."

"Snob," she teases, raising her head, and I have to laugh, both at the matching reaction and at her adorable grin.

"Irrelevant," I reply, teasing back—but then I have to come up with a valid, non-pretentious argument; Southeast's English programme is sufficiently comprehensive that I can't disparage it. "We could study Classics at Dartmouth, too— _I_ might even learn something."

"That's not true for Alaska?"

"It's _less_ true."

"Less true enough to matter?"

"No. Bella, I would take _theatre studies_ if you wanted to—Alaska will be fine."

She grins. "Theatre studies is the worst major you can think of?"

"On its own, no, but all the egotistical, self-absorbed people drawn to acting render it untenable—although some of the exercises would make excellent psychology experiments."

"You've studied psychology?" she asks, and I can't quite figure out if she's surprised or intrigued.

"Only as a minor; plenty of egotistical, self-absorbed people are drawn to that, too. Maybe I'm being overly harsh towards actors—psychologists are some of the most self-absorbed, self-righteous, self-aggrandising people I've ever met."

"Must be especially fun to mess with them, then."

"It can be," I allow, remembering the time that I humbled an arrogant psychology professor who deemed all medical students "mindless drones" (by using a few of his own arguments against him). "But I usually keep away from them—they're always on the hunt for interesting cases, so they're unusually observant for their personality type."

" _Personality type?_ " she queries, chuckling; then she shakes her head. "I hate those personality tests. They all seem designed to make you feel like there's something wrong with being introverted—as if extroverts are so wonderful."

"You like Alice and Emmett," I tease (deliberately leaving out one key extrovert in her life, even though he epitomises the flaws of extroversion).

"I like _you_ more," she counters smoothly. Then she cocks her head and I feel an irrational surge of jealousy at the possibility that she's thinking about Jacob, too. "Is _Rosalie_ an extrovert, or just vain?"

I have to laugh, both at the apt question and at my relief that Jacob wasn't in her thoughts. "Rosalie defies definition—an introvert who loves attention." The opening is too timely to ignore. "Speaking of Rosalie…" Her face expresses surprise, but she waits silently for me to go on. "We could ask her to play the piano for us during the ceremony."

"You want to ask Rosalie?" Bella asks, her tone partly shocked, partly questioning my sanity; I sympathise on both counts. (Although Rosalie and I have become adept at concealing the extent of our ongoing, mutual dislike from our family, Bella is fully cognisant of it—due in no small part to Rosalie's undeserved hostility towards her.)

"I wouldn't say that," I reply, giving her a half-smile. "Alice suggested we ask."

She sighs, then shrugs. "Why not? She can always say no."

"It's what else she'll say that we might want to avoid."

Bella doesn't call me on the cryptic comment; instead, she says astutely, "She wouldn't say it anyway?"

"Probably not till after our first semester at college."

That catches her attention. "What does she want to talk about?"

"Your mortality," I say, trying to turn it into a joke.

"Oh." She is quiet for a moment, then she takes a deep breath. "Let's talk to her—I don't get many opportunities to do that, and I do want us to get on better. We're going to be family soon, after all."

"Bella, love, Rosalie and I have been family for _decades_. Our relationship is never going to get any better, and by extension, your relationship with her will always be strained. I'm sorry, but there's nothing either of us can do about it."

"That's half your problem—you've given up. If you made more of an effort to be nicer to her—"

"It's a little difficult with her throwing insults at me whenever I'm in sight."

Bella pauses, scrutinising me afresh, and I realise I've said too much. "Even after all this time?"

I aim for a casual sort of shrug. "Everything about me irritates her," I say, hoping to sidestep the truth that Rosalie finds my presence as infuriating as ever because not only do I know her every shallow thought, but she still can't shed her instinctive attraction to me (she no longer thinks me the most handsome boy she's ever laid eyes on, but the shape of my face still enchants her). If she so much as _suspects_ Bella of knowing that embarrassing (in her mind) truth, the veneer of friendliness will vanish and she'll be out to torpedo us both.

"I get that," Bella teases, reaching up to play with my hair. "You _are_ very irritating." Her smile and her touch reassure me enough that I manage not to ask for elucidation; and then she settles my uncertainty completely. "If you could hear _my_ thoughts, I'd be _irritated_ , too."

"Even now?" I ask, though I curse the thoughtless impulse that led me to say it when her face falls.

"I… didn't… mean it like that," she stutters. "I was thinking about it from Rosalie's point of view." Her hesitancy is telling. She _did_ mean it like that—but I can't blame her because I'd feel exactly the same way, wouldn't I? "Edward, I'm—"

"It's okay," I interrupt. "I understand. I'd feel the same way if our roles were reversed." (I've already grown close enough to Seth that I'd share my thoughts with him if I could, but that's in a two-way situation; if Bella could hear mine and I couldn't hear hers, I'd be hugely self-conscious.)

She stares hard at me, analysing my sincerity, then abruptly smiles. "If _I_ could hear _your_ thoughts, you wouldn't be able to pretend you don't enjoy irritating Rosalie."

I have to laugh. "When have I suggested otherwise? Although… I could be a lot _more_ irritating."

"And a lot less."

"Wait till after we talk to her; you might just want more."

She laughs. "You hope I will."

"No comment."

She smirks at me, but allows me to change the subject to our History assignment (which is actually interesting for both of us, for once, because we were able to pick our own 'cause' to study; Bella suggested the suffragette movement, and it turns out, as a teenage boy and then a newborn vampire, the struggles of American women to achieve the right to vote had almost completely passed me by).

"Kiss me first," she requests, raising up on tiptoe to bring our lips together.

I watch as her eyes slowly close, and then meet her partway, coupling our lips as I breathe in her divine scent.

In a strange way, it feels like the first proper kiss we've had since I got back. Thanks to Esme's sage counsel yesterday and the settling of our college choice to our mutual satisfaction, my mind is clearer than it's been since Bella lit up my life. The hope inside me is finally equal to the fear: the inevitable future isn't such a scary place anymore.

As we kiss, I hear the melody of our wedding march as though I'm listening to Alice's vision of that precious moment. The disparate strands of melody weave themselves together within the bounds of the familiar Canon, telling the story of our love to the sometime-steady, sometime-erratic beat of Bella's beautiful heart. I can't wait to play it for Bella tomorrow morning.

We kiss for so long that the sound of Charlie's cruiser intrudes on my notice before we're any closer to starting our homework.

"The cruiser's almost here," I murmur against her lips.

She sighs, then gives me one last kiss before pulling away. "He's getting earlier every week," she remarks.

"He likes spending time in La Push," I say, though I know it's more focused than that; he takes comfort in Sue's company.

"He sure does," Bella replies distractedly, and I hate the renewed surge of jealousy I feel—I'm still flush with her kisses, and I thought I was completely calm, yet the thought of her thinking of Jacob still fills me with fierce rage.

While she pulls out her homework, I focus on breathing slowly. The minutes before Charlie's arrival feel like seconds. He runs through his usual ritual, greeting Bella, nodding in my general direction, asking if she wants to take the cruiser this time, and then grudgingly climbing into the Volvo, where he alternates between tapping his knees and patting his gun for the entire journey. (His intent to use the gun is considerably less than it used to be, but he still likes knowing the option is there.)

Despite us being roughly half an hour earlier than usual, Seth is already waiting for us. He is lounging on the front porch, sketching out a little cartoon about his vigilante ninja superhero _Tyto_. He jumps up eagerly when the sound of the Volvo's engine reaches his ears and calls out to Sue to let her know we're almost here.

Sue is in the kitchen; she has only just put a roast in the oven, so dinner won't be ready for a good hour. She knows Seth will be happy to entertain Bella and me, and she shares enough interests with Charlie to make her equally happy to entertain him, but she can't help being conscious that, because Billy isn't coming tonight (thanks to his son's "serious lapse in judgement"), it will be the first time since Harry died that she and Charlie will be 'alone' together. She's sure Charlie will realise it, too, so she tries to plan a busy evening to help ease their shared grief. Charlie's and Harry's interests are practically indistinguishable, however, so she inevitably finds herself thinking of what she would want to do were Harry here.

I'm freshly impressed by her ability to mourn without losing herself to her grief. She and Seth have similar coping strategies. Unlike Leah, who actively tries to push away her memories of Harry, they embrace them—and the sadness that goes with them—because they're not only grateful for having him in their lives, they feel he's still a part of them. Their capacity to smile and enjoy life even when they're missing him exists in stark contrast with Leah's denial. Temperament aside, her main barrier is her anger; even setting aside her personal, unresolved anger about Sam's enforced betrayal and her unwanted werewolf genes, she still hasn't dealt with her feelings over Harry's death, especially the guilt that she incited his heart attack and the anger that he didn't take better care of himself. (Sue has been trying to reassure her that no part of it was her fault, but Leah flees at the merest hint of an emotional conversation—using the excuse of her volatile temper.)

Sue waits until she can hear the car's engine before joining Seth on the porch, elbowing him teasingly to claim first position. The brace on Bella's hand worries her, but she hopes it's sufficient to protect the injury (I feel a little bad for exaggerating its seriousness when I hear her concerns) and Bella's cheeriness seems to confirm it. Sue gives her a hug and then puts an arm around me equally effortlessly. Her body no longer freezes up in reaction to my coldness, but it has taken a concerted effort on her part; her instincts are better attuned to danger than the average human's. (I made it clear she didn't have to push herself, but she thinks it's silly to feel nervous around me when she trusts me with Seth's life.)

She knows as well as I do that it irritates Charlie whenever she touches me or praises me, and she has rarely missed an opportunity to do either one (or both) as she steadily works to help him adjust to my return. After six weeks, his negativity is significantly weaker, but there's still a long way to go.

Seth barely gives his mother time to ask after Bella's injured hand before grabbing my arm and dragging me to his room. Bella chuckles as she is towed in with me, and Sue grins at the scowl Charlie is directing at my back.

"He's a good kid," she tells him, challenging him on his sullenness. "Seth loves him, too."

"Seth loves everyone," Charlie grumbles as he slides his gun into its usual, hidden spot in the hallway bookshelf.

Sue just laughs (as does Seth), letting Charlie have the last word as she follows him to the kitchen to grab a couple of beers from the fridge, even though he is ostensibly disregarding the unique nature of our friendship. She particularly likes that Seth can claim 'ownership' of me because I'm closer to him than anyone else in the tribe. He is so easy-going that he can fit in with anyone, but because of that, he's never really had a _best friend_ , someone who looks to him first the way I do. And she loves that he's more outspoken and confident now, too: the downside of his easy-going nature was that he often let his own opinion go unsaid, but she no longer has to push him to speak up.

In his room, Seth sits us on his bed and then pulls out the 'special project' he's been working on at school—something he has managed to keep mostly secret from me. I know it's a pair of belt buckles, one for him and one for me, but I don't know what they look like.

He hands me a little box made entirely out of expertly folded paper, then waits while I open it (the lid has a clever little catch, so he teases me about tearing it if I'm not careful), before pulling out the one he made for himself.

The buckle is a smooth, rectangular piece of anodized aluminium, divided into three even segments that are subtly different shades of gun-metal grey, with two squares of semi-precious stones overlaid across the middle of the second two segments. Both his and mine have a deep blue agate in the third segment, and then mine has a golden tigers eye in the centre and his a striped malachite. The buckle is light but well balanced, and the simple mechanism clicks securely into the other half (a smaller piece of plain metal).

"I know you wear plain belts," he says, "so I kept it simple."

"It's beautiful, Seth—they both are."

He grins. "I was going for _cool_ , but beautiful works, too."

"They're _awesome_ ," Bella corrects. "You're really talented, Seth."

He smiles, enjoying the praise. "Having quick reflexes helps—I almost burned myself a ton of times while I was building the frames."

"I'll definitely wear it at graduation," I promise him, wishing I could tell him I'll wear it on my wedding day, too.

"I thought about putting it on a belt, but decided to enlist your help with that."

"I'm in. You want to make it from scratch or use a pre-made piece of leather?" He is intrigued, so I go on. "I've done some tanning before, and it's a handy skill—you can build all sorts with leather." (My mind unhelpfully leaps to a few memories of Carlisle's about clothing and trinkets made out of _human_ leather, but I steer my thoughts onto a less murderous track by remembering that some human cultures include the fashioning of treasured or ritualistic objects from the dead bodies of loved ones.)

"Would wild deer leather be strong enough?" Bella asks.

"It should be, and we have enough time to cure a fresh piece of hide before graduation."

"Awesome!" Seth gushes. Then he turns to Bella. "Would you like a bracelet, Bells?"

She smiles. "You don't have to make me anything."

He shakes his head, unsurprised by her unwillingness to receive gifts. "I kinda _already_ made something—I thought of it as part of a bracelet, but you could use it for something else." He pulls out another paper box and hands it to her.

"Seth, you shouldn't have," Bella mumbles, but she accepts it without further protest so he doesn't tell her that it started out as his practice run for the belt buckles (because he put just as much care into it as he did the buckles).

Inside, there is a long, thin piece of the same anodized aluminium set with a square of dark tigers eye stone and a square of deep blue agate to match my buckle. It would work as a pendant or as a bracelet (lengthwise down the arm with several cords of leather crossing through it is the way Seth pictures it), or even as a hairclip or something.

"Thanks," she murmurs. "It'll make a gorgeous bracelet." She smiles at him; then, in a deliberate act to dispel the emotional moment, she waves her braced hand. "Much better than _this_ fashion accessory."

"Will you heal in time for graduation?" he asks, realising he had taken for granted that she won't be lumbered with it for anywhere near that long (he's already forgetting how long humans take to heal).

"The brace will be long gone by then," Bella assures him. "I'm only wearing it now for Edward's peace of mind."

Seth grins at her, but he knows my mind is hardly going to be _peaceful_ with this conspicuous reminder not only of Bella's injury but of Jacob's assault. "Good," he says. "But I'll make sure _He Who Must Not Be Named_ knows he's not off the hook."

Bella chuckles at the reference, and for the first time since Jacob Black went from my pitied junior to my bitter rival, I find myself genuinely smiling at mention of him.

Surprised by the depth of my amusement (he would actually be less surprised if I hadn't understood the reference), Seth asks if I've read Harry Potter.

I roll my eyes. "I could have read each book through people's thoughts a hundred times over."

He laughs. "What's your favourite?"

He's teasing, but I _do_ have a favourite, so I indulge them both. "Goblet of Fire."

Seth roars with laughter, which makes Bella laugh more than she already was.

"I can see you as Hogwarts's champion," Seth teases.

" _Accio_ mountain lion," I joke.

They both dissolve into fresh laughter and I join in, pleased by the success of my simple quip.

After our laughter subsides, Bella's expression turns contemplative. "Telekinesis would be a handy gift…"

"A highly unlikely one."

"Less likely than telepathy?" Seth contends.

"Gift with physical manifestations are extremely rare."

"If you could lift yourself to fly," he says, picturing soaring through the sky, "it would be _awesome_."

"Theoretically, if telekinesis is bounded by the laws of physics, trying to lift yourself would mean applying force against yourself," I point out. "The concentration required to maintain flight would be considerable—it might be easier to hold onto something and lift that, but you may as well strap into a hang-glider if you're going to do that."

Seth rolls his eyes at my scientific answer, before experiencing a sudden "brain wave"—that there is actually a "fun" use for my extensive knowledge. "We should go to quiz night at the Lodge," he enthuses. "We'd clean up. You wouldn't even need to cheat—your head must be _full_ of useless facts."

"It gets fuller every second," I tease back.

He laughs, but isn't distracted. "Dad and Charlie sucked—I usually got more questions right than they did." _Apart from_ history _night, then they got pretty much all of them. And don't tell me that Dad only_ said _he didn't know when he really did, because that wasn't_ every _time._ "You could pick which ones we get right so it doesn't look suspicious."

Bella shakes her head. "Charlie doesn't need any more encouragement to go to the Lodge."

"Where else, then?" Seth asks, not letting go of the idea now that he's thought of it, and he can't see any downside.

"When we're too poor to afford to feed you," I say, "we can hustle quiz nights. Until then, I vote we let the humans have their fun."

"What about _my_ fun?" _Just_ one _night?_

"How about we visit Vegas when you're old enough?" I offer; we usually avoid places with that many cameras, but for Seth, I don't mind making an exception.

"Deal!"

Bella scoffs at his enthusiasm, then gives me a reproving stare. " _Vegas?_ "

"You said the Lodge was out…" Her lips twitch with supressed amusement, but she raises an eyebrow in a clear signal of _renew my faith in you_. "It's out of state, far from our usual haunts, and I've heard it's fun if you're rich."

Seth loves the last reason, but Bella manages to keep her stern mien so I can only speculate on her amusement. "It's in the middle of a _desert_ ," she points out, ever the voice of reason.

"Casinos don't have windows," I humbly inform her. (I'm tempted to add that partying all night and sleeping all day is pretty much standard practice in places like that, but why use two arguments when one will suffice? And it's easier to play innocent on four words than 20.)

Bella shakes her head in what I assume to be mock despair, because she can't help smiling through her disapproval—so it's clear she no longer objects.

"Sweet!" Seth crows, picturing the extravagant buildings and bright, flashing lights he's seen on TV, before wondering how many vampires hang out in Vegas. "Do vampires gamble?"

"Of course. There's bound to be at least half a dozen in Vegas at any one time, but they'll all be transient." (Unless an entrepreneurial vampire has bought a casino or two… but that's not overly likely.) "Jasper and Emmett are terrible; they'll bet on anything, but they don't gamble with money, just pride—or rather, bragging rights."

Naturally, Seth is intrigued, so I recount some of the more interesting contests my brothers have engaged in over the years. Bella has only heard the one about the ostrich egg (Emmett dared Jasper to steal a fertilised egg and nurse it through to hatching), so she is as eager for me to share my brothers' stories (and spill their secrets!) as Seth is.

When dinner time comes around, I'm only up to 1997. The smell of the roast beef resting on the bench has all the humans in the house gravitating to the kitchen, so Sue puts Seth to work setting the table. He leaves an empty placing for me, which Charlie notices the moment he walks in carrying the beef; he knows Sue doesn't think it's rude when I don't eat with them, but I'm pretty sure he takes it as another sign of how difficult I am. (Even when I abstain from eating meat dishes with him and Bella, he sees it as pickiness rather than considerateness.)

After dinner, Seth (scoffing his chocolate ice cream in a cone), Bella, and I head back to his room so I can run through the highlights of Emmett and Jasper's competitiveness over the past decade. Leah actually stays for dessert and sits with her mother and Charlie as they discuss the latest goings on in Forks. I'm glad that she's feeling more secure in her temper, but even happier that she is less conscious of my mental intrusion (I'm not "the enemy" anymore).

It's late when we leave (as usual), so Bella and Charlie head to bed as soon as I drop them off. Though I make the round trip in less than seven minutes, Bella is already asleep. She half-wakes as I climb into her bed—I wouldn't disturb her, but I've been told in no uncertain terms that it's more than my life is worth if she wakes up and I'm standing by the bed "like a _stalker_ " (cue percussion sting)—and automatically tries to kiss me, so I hum gently and kiss her cheeks and forehead to coax her back to sleep, and she quickly relaxes once more.

Her sleep-talking is about the bet my brothers have on her and I regret filling her mind with their crazy, silly dares and egocentric contests. Alice comes to my rescue in the quiet hours, pulling me out of my own head. After we hunt together, she looks into my near future and sees me searching for property in New Hampshire as well as Alaska. It is an uncertain scene, so she is quick not only to support it but also to offer her assistance—the _intrigue_ excites her—but I draw the line when she proposes forging Bella's signature to accept the Dartmouth offer.

Naturally, Alice knows exactly how to make the underhand tactic sound like a perfectly reasonable, nay _sensible_ , avenue for a fiancé to take into order to ensure his fiancée still has every option she deserves. It isn't that Alice sees Bella changing her mind, but she knows how much I'd like her to experience the energy of a large and bustling academic community, comprising some of the best minds in the country. And she swears to keep the secret—when Bella and I go to Alaska, Alice will cancel the Dartmouth enrolment without any fuss and send them a generous donation to compensate for the inconvenience. Everybody's happy.

By the time I get back to Bella, nine minutes later, I've ceded to Alice's cunning plan. Which is probably why I agree to hide in Bella's truck in the morning, so she can pretend to drive to me rather than having to wait for me to pick her up.

Alice primed Rosalie ahead of time, so she is waiting for us on the porch, surrounded by car parts she's cleaning.

"Good morning, Rosalie," Bella says, making every effort to sound cheerful.

"Morning, Bella," Rosalie replies, smiling with as much sincerity as she ever does. "How's the hand?"

Bella looks a little thrown by Rosalie's outwardly friendly mien, but she seems more pleased than suspicious. "It's fine, thanks; not sore at all. I'm only wearing the brace for Edward."

 _Of course you are_ , Rosalie thinks, deciding whether to say it or not; _he thinks he knows what's best for everyone, not just you._ "Alice tells me you and Edward are enrolling in English literature at Alaska Southeast." _Does Bella know you're enrolling at_ Dartmouth _, too_?

I keep my smile as relaxed as possible, doing my best not to rise to the bait because she's merely trying to goad me into confirming it (she thinks it's something _neurotic-Edward_ would do). But if Rosalie wants to stir up trouble, I'm not sure there's much I can do.

"Yes," Bella says brightly, and I hope she is as oblivious to the undertone of the conversation as she seems. "I'm really looking forward to it."

"I'm so glad," Rosalie replies _without_ her usual sarcasm, thanks to the stirrings of hope she feels that Bella's timeline for joining the barren ranks of the undead is longer than expected (because her enthusiasm proves it's more than a cover story for her family and friends). "Alice also tells me you have a question for me." She is actually intrigued now, where before she was merely curious that we want something of her when I must know her answer will include a lecture on the value of fertility.

"We were wondering," Bella says bravely, "if you'd like to play the piano for us at our wedding."

Rosalie is genuinely stunned. For half a second, she looks back and forth between Bella and me, analysing our sincerity. Do we actually want to include her in our special day?

Listening to her hopefulness, I feel unexpectedly emotional; our relationship is irreconcilably complicated, but I realise now that I hadn't forgiven her for callously plotting Bella's murder last January—since that moment, I've been unconsciously attributing her dislike of Bella to that same attitude, that same cold-hearted resolve. But, in this moment, as Rosalie momentarily sets aside her interminable bitterness, I see that she has accepted Bella as part of her family, "for better or worse". (She still thinks I've made mistake after mistake, but I can't argue with that, only with her choice to be less than friendly towards Bella for selfish reasons.)

She sees the surprise in my face and relishes catching me off guard. "I'd love to," she gushes, jumping up to hug Bella.

Bella responds with undisguised shock, but Rosalie doesn't blame her; she blames _me_ for giving her "the wrong impression".

"I don't disapprove of _you_ , Bella," she says, releasing her gently to ensure she doesn't lose her balance. "I understand _why_ you're choosing this existence, but I just can't approve of you throwing your life away—of you throwing away your chance to be a _mother_. When I was alive, I loved the attention my beauty afforded me. I thought it _guaranteed_ me a beautiful baby. But even so, I would have given _anything_ to be a mother, even traded my beauty." She sighs and her expression regains its usual bitter twist. "I suppose it's ironic that I ended up with everlasting, immortal beauty and no chance of ever having a baby." She thinks wistfully about the impossible dream of adopting a human baby (even if the logistics were feasible, we both doubt the Volturi would approve such a reckless move if they ever found out, especially when it's almost certain they won't understand the reason for it).

Bella is her usual stoic self in the face of Rosalie's uncharacteristic candour. "I'm so sorry you didn't get to have children. But I can't say I understand, because I don't want children—that's _my_ choice. I'm not missing out because I already have everything I want."

"Even if you really _do_ think that, you're only eighteen. In today's terms, that's way too young to be a mother; of course you're not interested in kids right now. But you might well think differently—" she breaks off, deciding that any reference to time or ageing will work against her (because she understands Bella's horror at getting old). "Do you know how many times Edward said he didn't want a mate?"

"He wasn't wrong when he said that; he just hadn't met me yet," Bella counters, chivalrously defending me. "But this is different. Edward and I can't _have_ children together—we're different _species_ —and I'm okay with that."

 _You could have your pick of human genetic material_ , Rosalie thinks, but for once, she doesn't voice the snide remark. "All I'm saying is have another think about it. Once you become a vampire, that's all you'll ever be."

"I know," Bella replies solemnly. "Forever with Edward is what I want, and I know what it means, but I literally can't live without him—and, honestly, I think I'll like being a vampire. Just like Emmett."

Rosalie sighs; she finds it hard to believe that Bella, who is nothing like Emmett (in her opinion), would find the same joy in a vampire body that he does. "Emmett lives for his muscles—he barely appreciates that there even _are_ sacrifices involved."

Bella smiles at that. "Because he has everything he wants."

"Because he's a simple man," Rosalie corrects. " _You're_ not. You're not as complicated as _this one_ ," she adds, waving a dismissive hand in my direction, "but few are."

" _Complicated_ ," I repeat, trying out a little joke. "That sounds dangerously like a compliment."

"If I'd meant it as compliment," she replies, actually joking in return, "I would've said _complex_."

"Of course," I reply smoothly. "Thank you for clearing that up."

When she actually cracks a smile, I wonder if we might be able to call a truce, at least until the wedding if not till Bella's heart stops beating.

"I _am_ happy for you both," Rosalie says, addressing herself to Bella (because, for my part, she's glad I left her so I got to feel the pain of having all sense of purpose stripped away, even if it had been _my_ choice to leave). "I do consider you family—but you were given a second chance after James bit you, and it pains me to watch you waste it."

Bella nods seriously. "Edward gave me a second chance," she murmurs, her voice quivering faintly with a strong emotion she can't quite suppress. "But I'm not wasting it. I'm using it to say goodbye to my family."

She might've said more, but her eyes are glistening with tears so she stops to take a deep breath. I wrap my arms around her and she leans into me.

Rosalie feels sympathy for her, but she can't empathise; her parents mourned her death, but she was so fixated (understandably) on revenge that she barely remembers them—except to blame them for the same thing she herself had done: exploit her beauty (because otherwise she might've ended up engaged to a decent guy).

To end the conversation, Rosalie calls Esme, who comes dashing outside, eager to work on her knitting project with us.

"First," I say, "I thought I'd play my idea for an arrangement of Pachelbel's Canon for Bella's entrance." Esme and Bella both nod emphatically, so I refocus on Rosalie. "Rosalie, would you like to join us, given you'll be playing it?"

She smiles a little, pleased to be treated like a beloved sister rather than a pain in the neck but also amused by the awkwardness she feels at this bizarre civility between us (because we're sincere about it for the first time). "Yes, I suppose I would." _Do I get a say in it?_

When I nod, she smiles wider as the pleasure wins. Esme gives a little cheer and then grabs my hand, which I raised obligingly to meet hers, and pulls me straight to the piano.

As Rosalie follows the three of us inside, she ponders her conflicted feelings for me: Carlisle and Esme are the only reason she sees me as part of her family, but she must love me (a _very_ little) for my own sake—although my presence has become a lot more tolerable since I met Bella (and not solely because I'm rarely home).

"I felt the same way about Emmett," I murmur, too quietly for Bella; Rosalie understands exactly what I mean, and she thinks about how true it felt for her, too, which is something I didn't experience—but that's not completely accurate. "Not _before_ I met Bella," I point out, because my vampiric existence felt exactly like a curse after falling in love with a human.

Bella sits beside me at the piano, while Esme stands behind me, resting a hand on my shoulder, and Rosalie stands off to the side.

"This is the original, for comparison," I say, before playing a minute of the Canon (for Bella's sake). Then I stop and restart with my own version, a two-part melody with a couple of harmony lines that weave in and out, at times bolstering the melodies, directly harmonising with them, or breaking off to let them stand alone. Between the melodies and the harmonies, I maintain a strong, steady beat at all times, so Bella will always have something to pace her steps to.

The constraint of not exceeding what would be possible for a skilled human means that it's much simpler than anything else I've ever composed, yet it holds its own. Esme loves it; she hears Bella and me in the melody lines, and she pictures herself and the rest of the family as the harmonies behind us, helping us find our way together. I hadn't thought of it that way, but I very much approve. I tweak a piece of the harmony to include twelve bars of her melody, which delights her beyond words.

Bella appears similarly moved; her eyes are shining with tears—happy tears, going by the gentle smile playing across her lips.

After playing the last notes, I lower my hands to my lap. "Thoughts?" I ask my audience.

Bella covers my right hand with hers. "It's perfect," she murmurs.

"I agree," Esme gushes. "And it's just right for the ceremony—recognisable without being trite, and unique without being unduly complicated."

"Will the humans notice its complexity?" Rosalie asks, hoping to avoid being the focus of annoying questions.

"I could cut out some of the trickier sections," I offer. "It's bound to draw some attention still, but most of the human guests will be too intimidated by you to do more than compliment you."

"I suppose that's okay," she replies, deciding she can _endure_ that—as long as I keep an ear out and save her from any overly talkative humans.

"Emmett will see off any overly friendly humans," I point out.

"I'll spare you, Rosa," Esme promises. "I'll commandeer any persistent conversationalists by praising my talented children to the skies while you slip away."

Rosalie and Bella both laugh, and then they share a smile. It's all a little too weird for Rosalie, though, so she pats Esme's arm, tells me I can leave it as it is, and then heads to Wyoming to join Emmett, Alice, and Jasper in their hunt for interesting fossils to use as table decorations. (She hadn't planned to go, but she's feeling charitable.)

As soon as the three of us are alone, Esme takes Bella's hand and leads her into the corner of the lounge that she's turned into a "knitting nook". There are so many brightly coloured balls of wool stacked against the walls, you'd be forgiven for thinking they're constructed out of Lego bricks.

Bella accepts a pair of needles reluctantly. "I'm fine just watching," she says.

"You don't want to knit?" Esme enquires, her sympathetic tone perfectly tuned to elicit maximal candour (for a split second, I'm absurdly jealous).

"I'll just slow you down," Bella mumbles self-consciously.

"Not at all," Esme gushes, relieved and delighted that Bella's reticence is based on something so easily resolvable. "Knitting can't be rushed. And if a certain _someone_ can't resist, he'll ruin it." _I mean it, Wadie_ , she warns me, grinning as she pictures me messing up the tension and creating a monstrosity of form. _It will be completely ruined_ , she insists. "The only thing it will be good for is _modern art_."

She knows I have neither patience nor respect for the ridiculous creations that somehow pass for art in this 'modern' era; even so, I can't help rising to the bait. " _Modern_ _art_ is the greatest misnomer in the history of misnomers."

She and Bella both chuckle, and then Esme changes tack—to a pep talk. "Take your time," she advises me. "Don't waste my wool."

"No, ma'am," I reply, causing her to throw a ball of said wool at me.

"You can start with the indigo," she decrees. "Mistakes are less obvious with dark colours."

" _Thanks_ ," I answer dryly.

She smirks at me, then hands Bella a ball of indigo wool as well. "You can knit a panel for my rainbow," she says, considerately picking a section that requires no pattern whatsoever. She has a relatively straightforward montage of skyscapes in mind, starting with a depiction of dawn, then a rainbow at midday, a vivid sunset, and a starry night, complete with moonlit Christmas tree; the float is sizeable, so each panel will be two yards wide and eight yards long.

Bella has some experience with knitting, but she is keen for a refresher course, so Esme guides us through the methodical process together. Despite my past exposure to her thoughts, I am a complete novice. Due to the craft's comparative slowness and simplicity, the level of thought involved is so minimal that it gets buried by almost every other thought. Her focus on it as she teaches us changes that, though, so her thoughts afford me all the insight I need to avoid shaming myself in front of either woman.

Esme teases me constantly while we knit, mentally at first and then vocally, too. She doesn't think I've ever managed such restraint in any task.

Bella expresses surprise at her observation, then generously attempts to defend me. "He's so patient every night while I sleep."

"For Edward, doing _nothing_ is significantly easier than doing something slowly," Esme replies wisely. "You've seen his face when he drives at the speed limit, and that's with him doing his best to _hide_ his impatience."

"True," Bella agrees, grinning. "From his face, you'd think he was being tortured."

"It _is_ torture," I grumble.

They both laugh at me, but that's okay; I play up to their expectations by knitting gradually faster and faster. My drawing efforts, despite my continuing failures, have taught me a kind of patience that is invaluable in this task. I'm working _with_ the wool and the needles, not competing against them; in the past, I would have kept pushing until they broke or the tension in the wool was ruined, because I didn't recognise that _my_ limit was well beyond theirs. Now, I see them as tools that I can only master by finding the point of optimal use depending on their properties rather than my proficiency. (Now, if only I could find my pencils' optimal use point!)

Conscious of Bella's need for sustenance, we take regular breaks; but, even so, the morning passes quickly and the length of our woollen rainbow panel reaches the desired seven yards (allowing for a yard of curved rainbow at the top) before we tire of the task. For a change of focus, Esme gives us some of the dark green wool so we can knit the centre of the Christmas tree, while she uses wool with metallic threads to knit golden balls and silver bows that she'll sew onto the tree to give it a faint 3D effect.

Bella encourages us to keep knitting while she stops for lunch, then she adeptly persuades Esme that we should keep going without her; although she's done all the knitting she can handle, she's still keen to sit with us while we knit. Following Esme's instructions, I work on a slightly more complicated element, the indigo curve of the rainbow, which is bordered by blue on one side and violet on the other.

After I've completed that section, Bella and I switch to our History assignment. Esme is eager to assist, especially when she sees the topic. She actually remembers when women got the vote in 1920, and the horrible arguments against women's rights that were put forth in the years leading up to it; she had actually believed many of them for a time. She shares her story of her husband rejecting her right to vote—he'd said she wasn't a citizen, she was his wife (in other words, his property). It hadn't been until she got pregnant that she realised she couldn't leave her child, boy or girl, at his mercy. She didn't want her baby living in that ugly world, believing that women were lesser than men.

"You were so brave," Bella murmurs.

"Thank you, Bella," Esme replies. "But, honestly, I didn't feel brave. I just did what I had to."

"I think," I speak up, hoping to steer the conversation away from motherly instincts, "that that's the definition of courage."

Esme chuckles and puts an arm around me. She realises I'd rather we talk about something else, especially after Rosalie's impossible request, so she starts on another voting story—a happy one, this time. But she also advises me to talk with Bella, so we can work through Rosalie's opinions together.

When Bella suggests we visit the library in Port Angeles to look for a local suffragette's story of what Washington women went through (inspired by Esme's stories), I insist on driving us there. In the car, Bella is quiet but smiles readily whenever she looks at me. I let a minute pass before asking how she's feeling after our talk with Rosalie.

"It wasn't nearly as scary as you'd made it out to be," she teases.

"I have to admit, I hadn't realised Rosalie felt so warmly towards you."

"You and me both. I told you you just needed to try harder."

"No—I just needed _you_."

She chuckles. "True. You'd be a total savage without me," she teases.

"That's beside the point," I tease back. "Rosalie doesn't like me any more than she ever has, but she has warmed to you in a way I thought her incapable of."

"What a _beastly_ thing to say about your sister," she exclaims in mock horror.

After sharing a laugh, I reply, "My sincerest apologies, sweet lady," which causes her to reach out and slap me lightly on the arm (no doubt because there's nothing _sincere_ about my smirk). "I would prostrate myself at your feet and beg forgiveness—but I'm driving."

"I'll take a rain check," she shoots back.

"I'm at your liberty."

Her body responds viscerally to my avowal (perhaps because, after so much teasing, it was completely sincere), and I'm sure I'm not the only one suddenly picturing her climbing into my lap and kissing me until we're both breathless. It's a good thing I can drive this road without heed.

Unsurprisingly, Bella is still more conscious of the road than I am; after 12 seconds of staring into my eyes, she manages to close hers and then turns her head away.

"How do _you_ feel about it?" she murmurs.

"About what?" I ask, not willing to presume the focus of her thoughts right now.

"Having children—we haven't really discussed it."

"For the reason you pointed out—we can't have children together."

"Yes, but would _you_ want children?"

"For myself, I can't even imagine it; this is all I am—an undead, _reformed_ monster," I add, though the lighthearted teasing doesn't fit with the seriousness of my feelings on this matter. "I already have all the family I want. For you, though, I feel like I'm depriving you and the rest of the world of another you."

" _I'll_ still be here," she reminds me, dazzling me with her assured smile.

"True," I murmur, eternally glad for the immortal life we'll get to share. "I love you."

"I know," she replies merrily, and ever so slightly smugly—and why shouldn't she be smug?

For the first time since Bella came into my life, I feel nigh on invincible.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five: Alumnus**

As the days lengthen and graduation approaches, the mood at Forks' High grows progressively more upbeat. Normally, I wouldn't get caught up in the spirit of the approaching summer holidays, but Bella has changed all that. My cheerfulness not only survives the tedium of school, but it almost rivals Alice's. Jacob's low profile and his less frequent presence in Bella's sleep-talking are leading factors, but even Mike's jealousy and Jessica's pettiness no longer bother me. Only Lauren's nasty thoughts are capable of irritating me, but Alice and I have made a game out of mentioning items she has recently stolen in her hearing, which makes her flinch and panic amusingly.

Despite the general cheer, my uncharacteristically good mood doesn't go unnoticed—every day, someone new laughs at my seemingly perpetual smile. I am still troubled by lingering doubts and fears, particularly in the middle of the night, but even then, my happiness outweighs my nerves. Bella seems genuinely content for the first time since I came into her life, my return and Bella's recovery are no longer the focus of the entire school community, and my drawing project is showing definite promise. It is still a long way from finished, but I finally feel that I've conquered the technique of shading, which requires challengingly subtle variations in pressure.

With four and a half weeks until graduation, I start choosing my colours properly. (The colours I'm recreating from Alice's vision are based on human visual acuity; I wish I could match them to the exact colours Bella sees in the world, but from her previsioned reaction, I assume they're sufficiently close.) Over three sessions, I manage to complete the truck, but a few minutes after starting on the trees, my concentration wavers and I gouge the paper. My greatest frustration is that I don't feel the lapse in control until it's too late. The mistakes are considerably rarer so I must have learned something, but my usual consistency is failing me. What am I missing? Is there some other type of control over and above the control I've already gained?

I ask Seth how he manages to draw his cartoon ninja so consistently, but his answer—"that's what he looks like"—doesn't help me with my problem (no matter how amusing it is). And when we're next alone, on Tuesday after school, Seth has his own questions.

When I first hear his mind, he is lying on a tree branch three yards above the ground, trying not to think about the explicitly sexual memories Paul couldn't keep his mind off this morning. Still, he can't help feeling like he's missing out.

I ditch the car at the nearest roadside picnic stop and run through the trees to meet him, pondering the similarities between his situation and mine before Bella came into my life. Seth has never been kissed, but of course he's seen a lot more than kissing from his hot-blooded pack-brothers.

"Have you met a girl you like?" I ask, settling into the gap between his sprawling legs and the tree trunk.

 _Not really_ , he answers, sitting up. _All the girls my age are intimidated by me_ … _I think Kim's pretty, but Jared would kill me if he found out about that_. _Am I forgiven for thinking Bella's pretty too?_

"She _is_ pretty—it's a fact of life." We share a chuckle. "Bella is the only girl I've ever kissed—I heard plenty from my family's thoughts, too, but their relationships are so intense, just like the ones you see, and I wasn't interested in having that kind of intensity with anyone until I met Bella." I can't help recalling Tanya's offer (after I politely declined her interest in me) of 'casual' sex—except she couldn't hide the hope that I'd feel more invested in her afterwards.

 _You didn't feel like you were missing out?_

"No. I felt like I was being dragged through their feelings—" he concurs wholeheartedly—"and the thought of having those feelings for myself wasn't even on my radar."

 _You didn't want…sexy times?_

I have to laugh, despite the images of Paul and Rachel in the throes of passion that he's only semi-deliberately sharing with me. "It wasn't my focus. I was still figuring out who I was—who I wanted to be—and I didn't want to give any part of myself away."

He agrees with that; he doesn't want to give his heart away yet either.

"Good," I murmur.

He nudges me with his nearest foot. _Love you, too, brother_. Then he lies down again. _Have you and Bella—?_

"No."

 _You're waiting till she's vamped out?_

"Something like that," I murmur; he hears my embarrassment, so he tries not to dwell on it, but he can't help wondering what kissing a human is like for me. "If you asked Paul what it's like kissing Rachel—not that you need to, I know—you'd get no more helpful an answer."

He chuckles, comparing his idea of the way Bella and I kiss to the way Paul and Rachel ravish each other. _Can't you just focus on the differences between Bella and a vampire?_

"She's sensitive to my coldness and extremely fragile," I shoot back (to show him why the question is pointless), before trying to find a better answer. "You remember our cousins in Denali? They enjoy having sex with human males—I haven't analysed their reasons in any depth, but the heartbeat is certainly a pleasing aspect."

 _It doesn't make them hungry?_

"No. They used to kill their lovers," I admit, "hundreds of years ago; but now they are almost as immune to the bloodlust as Carlisle."

 _And you_ , he thinks, using that to help him get past the fact that even our pacifist cousins were serial killers in the beginning.

"Hmm," I agree noncommittally, then chuckle as he listens to his own heartbeat and wonders how much of my attention is similarly absorbed. "The majority," I joke, making him laugh.

 _My heartbeat is deafening_ , he boasts.

"When you're on your own," I tease, implying his 'little' heart would be drowned out by his pack-brothers' larger hearts.

He snorts, rejecting the implied slight, and pictures throwing me off the branch and pinning me to the ground.

"I'm still stronger," I remind him, "and you're only an inch taller."

He sits up, wishing we could test my strength against his wolf strength without risk of injury—because he reckons that that contest would be much closer.

"You can't beat what you can't catch," I remark, letting him keep his fanciful fantasy.

He throws out a hand and grabs my upper arm; he likes that his fingers are _just_ long enough to completely wrap around my arm, made all the sweeter because the same would not be true for my hand around _his_ arm. "You're _mine_ ," he insists, grinning, because he knows I could've evaded his grip but chose not to—which makes his claim _more_ true.

My subtle offer of a race is quickly dismissed because it's not remotely a contest of strength (he knows he'll lose, even if I go easy on him). But he thinks a hunt would be fun—especially if we catch ourselves a deer for dinner. I've bought him dinner every other Tuesday, but this time, he thinks free-range venison sounds more appealing (as long as Leah or Jacob aren't in wolf form). And we can collect the hide for our belts and Bella's bracelet at the same time.

When Seth phases, we're both pleased that his mind isn't linked to anyone else's.

 _We can share_ , he offers enthusiastically, so I give him a noncommittal shrug; I have a feeling he'll convince me (and my eyes are about as dark as I let them get nowadays), but I still have reservations.

Thanks to his eagerness to hunt together, it's easy to hide my hesitancy beneath retrieving his shorts, strategizing, and locating our chosen prey. The deer doesn't stand a chance; Seth has learned to run almost as noiselessly as I can. I am faster, so he hangs back at the last moment while I dart in and snap its neck; technically, the hapless creature will still be alive for a few minutes, but it can't move and I sincerely hope it can't feel anything.

I step back as Seth opens his maw to take the first bite; he looks up, confused. _I thought we were sharing_ , he says, trusting me not to decide I prefer _his_ blood to the deer's halfway through (even if his would be " _way_ nicer").

"It's not that."

 _You're worried you'll poison me?_

"No…"

 _You don't want to let the monster out_. I nod, though it's more about exposing him to that dark part of my nature. He rejects the reason and refuses to start without me (because when he rips into the hide, he'll be wasting blood), but it is ultimately his curiosity that overcomes my unwillingness.

He watches as I kneel at the deer's head and rip the jugular vein open with my fingers before setting my lips over the wound, taking care not to let any venom enter the bloodstream, just in case. The moment the blood enters my mouth, I feel an almost physical blow as the primal urge to glut myself on blood meets the rigid barrier of my self-control. The barrier holds firm, but I drink swiftly, without breathing, to minimise the period of risk.

Seth waits half a minute before taking his share of our kill, and it feels unexpectedly intimate. _Wolf Seth_ feels the same instinctive thrill of the 'reward' of the kill that _vampire Edward_ feels, and it helps me manage my revulsion at my own murderous instincts in ways I'd never considered before. (My predatory instincts aren't as 'unnatural' or as far beyond the bounds of those experienced by 'natural' predators as I'd presumed.)

When the deer is mostly drained of blood, I pinch the skin together to close the wound and then sit back on my feet to wait for Seth to finish. Watching him _crunch_ through the leg bone is thrilling and I find myself feeling his enjoyment as if it were my own. I can almost taste the sweet marrow… I'm curious enough to try it for myself (after all, red marrow is the source of blood cells and platelets), so I snap the femur of the closest leg—Seth pauses mid-chew to see what I'm doing—and then scoop out a morsel of marrow with my finger. It doesn't have the same effect on me as blood, but its flavour is decidedly appealing. I don't know what that means for my ability to 'digest' it, though, so I don't have any more. Seth gives a snorting chuckle as he resumes chewing, amused by my culinary experiment.

After a few minutes, he decides he's had enough ( _wolf Seth_ is yet to be sated, but he isn't planning to stay a wolf and he's cognisant of ending up with a human belly full of raw meat). He wipes his bloody muzzle on his front paws, then grins at me. He has never seen my eyes look so bright—and he has never felt so grateful for the strange quirk of a non-human diet that turns my eyes to golden honey instead of the violent red.

It's almost twilight, so he phases back before tonight's sentry starts his or her watch. After pulling on his shorts, he flops down on a nearby bed of moss.

 _I'm stuffed_ , he avers, thinking he won't be able to move for a _week_.

"You'll be hungry again in an hour," I reply, confident of that fact in spite of the differences between his human stomach and the wolf's.

 _No, don't mention food!_ , he entreats.

"Should I still take the hide?"

 _Definitely_ , he thinks, closing his eyes; and then he promptly falls asleep.

With one ear on his gentle breathing, I carefully peel away the hide. It is in excellent condition, but alongside my satisfaction at using multiple parts of this kill, I feel guilty for all the hides I've wasted. The meat would've been accessible to a much wider range of forest creatures if I'd bothered to do this for my other kills, and I could've donated the hides or the resulting leather to local leather crafters or tanneries.

It only takes three minutes to remove all of the usable hide. With Seth still fast asleep, I dispose of the carcass, wash the hide in the river, and then settle down a few yards from my sleeping companion to start stripping off the fur. It is a laborious process, but it will drastically reduce the time required to turn this hide into leather.

Forty minutes later, the hide is clean and ready for the next step—immersion in a tannin bath. Seth is still practically comatose, so I run home and change my soiled clothes while I wait for his body to shift into a lighter cycle of sleep. He wakes the moment I murmur his name.

"What'd I miss?" he slurs, sitting up slowly.

I point to the clean, neatly folded hide beside me. "It's ready for treatment."

That news fully animates him and he jumps up. _Let's go!_ But being vertical reminds him just how preoccupied his body still is in digesting his meal. _Carry me?_ , he asks, only partly joking.

"I _could_ ," I agree, prompting him to consider the idea more seriously.

He grins and holds out his arms, so I pick up the hide and then turn sideways to help him climb onto my back.

 _I'll give you a wolfback ride soon_ , he promises, hoping we'll get lucky again and there won't be any other wolves to eavesdrop on our fun, as he wraps his arms carefully around my shoulders and his thighs around my waist, resting his weight gently on my hips. Then he's distracted by the feel of my collarbone—he is surprised that my marble skin actually feels as though it's shifting back and forth over bone.

"There _is_ bone there," I explain. "It's just that the bone, skin, muscle, and other tissues all look the same."

He laughs. _That's even weirder—but I get it now; why you can still flex_.

I strike a pose with one arm, flexing my bicep. "It's more impressive when Emmett does it."

 _It's more impressive when_ I _do it_.

"Agree to disagree," I shoot back, before taking off without warning.

He gasps as I accelerate to 120 mph in seven seconds, thrilled, and then encourages me to go even faster. I oblige him a little, speeding up to 185 mph. It's nowhere near my top speed, but he still loves it—it's more than double his own (maintainable) top speed.

Seth is keen to take the long way home, so I swing past Forks (specifically, past Newton's Outfitters), but instead of seeing Bella for a minute, I discover that she isn't there anymore! Apparently, Katie Marshall was being trained up to replace her, but they can't easily afford both, so Mrs Newton pressured Bella into quitting early, without providing any compensation of any kind. The woman's thoughts are extremely irritating—right now, they are worse than her son's have ever been, because she doesn't feel remotely bad for dropping Bella without warning or thanks (unlike Katie, who doesn't deserve any of the blame). She knows we have plenty of money and, even though she also knows that Bella believes in paying her own way, she thinks Bella should just take our money and "get over herself".

When I convey the news to Seth, he generously proposes that we go straight to Bella's. The offer is extremely tempting, but if Bella needed me, she would have called. "Let's set up the hide first," I say, which makes Seth feel even warmer inside than his physical warmth is making me feel. "Yes, you're important to me," I tease.

 _You know it_ , he teases back. Then, to take my mind off the Newtons' rudeness, he picks a topic he hasn't broached before now (but is understandably curious about). "How's the secret drawing project going?"

I can't help smiling; my careful questions about his drawings have been much too pointed for a smart kid like him. " _Hypothetically_ , if there _were_ a secret drawing project, which I am in no way, shape, or form confirming… my technique's definitely improving."

He enjoys my answer, but struggles not to press for actual details. _I hope I don't have to wait much longer!_

"Sorry, Seth."

 _When it's done, will you work on something with me? Mum said if I keep up my grades, I can paint my walls however I like—I'm thinking full-on mural_.

"I'd like that," I reply, listening to his nascent ideas; he wants a wall of forest, a wall of the imaginary city his ninja inhabits, a wall of mountains, and a wall that merges the mountains and forest, to give a broader perspective, as well as a ceiling of stars. It sounds like an exciting project, and the idea of using paint instead of coloured pencils makes it especially attractive. "I'll supply the paints and brushes."

 _Thanks!_ , he replies gratefully, not taking for granted that I would cover the expense. _I want to do something for Mum, too—I doubt she'll want a mural in her room, but we could paint a portrait of Jet for her birthday?_

Jet was Sue's beloved childhood horse (named for his dark chestnut coat), and Seth is excited by the fact that I can pull an exact image of him from Sue's memories, to replace the three grainy photos that are all she has of him.

"I can paint the horse while you take care of the background," I propose. "Life-size might be a bit big, though."

He just laughs, undeterred. _If it won't fit in her room, it could go in the lounge—even if we have to knock down a wall or two_.

"Shall we renovate the bathroom while we're at it?" I tease.

 _Mum probably won't let you pay for that_ , he replies (ignoring my sarcasm), _although if you purchase one of my paintings, I could donate the proceeds, and we'll save money by installing it all ourselves_. We both know Sue won't be any more swayed by that approach, but he's willing to bet that building himself an en suite will make her envious enough to agree.

"Let's not get carried away," I advise, interrupting his vision of knocking out the outer wall of his room and building a whole new section on the house. "A mural in your _existing_ room and a sensibly proportioned painting for your mum—that's all I'm agreeing to."

He grumbles (jokingly) the rest of the way to my house, but that's less than two minutes, and then he focuses his attention on preparing the hide. The process is simple, but his enthusiasm never wanes, thanks to his anticipation of the final outcome.

As Seth and I both expected, Bella downplays being fired. But she seems genuinely unconcerned by the Newtons' disrespect, so I do my best to put it out of my mind, too. She is keen to continue the weekly tradition of spending Tuesday afternoons with Seth, and he is eager for her to join us because it means he can have his first driving lesson.

Over the course of the week, Seth dutifully studies the driving code in preparation for the driving test I'll be administering before he's allowed behind the wheel. Only he is surprised when he gets every question right, even the complicated 'bonus' ones I devised.

While Seth takes to driving as if the car is an extension of his body, I struggle to perfect my drawing technique. I have to restart three times in five days before I think I've got the hang of life-like colorations and shading on the tree trunks and mosses and can begin trying to shade other elements in the scene. By then, we've started revising for exams. Thanks to Alice using her powers for evil, I'm able to steer Bella's revision in the most useful directions to help maximise her performance. She doesn't seem to notice, which suits me. Her focus revolves around exploiting our usefulness as fact-checkers, and we are more than happy to oblige.

Despite the days growing steadily warmer, there is still very little sun. While Alice appropriates Bella for a dress fitting one Sunday morning two and a half months out from the wedding, Seth and I find time for a wolfback ride. It is a wholly new experience for me, every bit as thrilling as I'd expected, and it helps buoy my mood as the deadline for my drawing project descends upon me.

When there are nine days until graduation, I finally feel confident enough to start colouring in Bella's likeness. I work slowly, trying hard to keep my true purpose in mind—but also acutely conscious that I may not have time to start again if I muck up.

Thanks to my care, I manage not to ruin my tolerable rendition of my beautiful Bella. Then, with graduation mere _days_ away, I put the finishing touch on a perfect reproduction of the drawing from Alice's vision. Alice dances into my room carrying the frame for it and I smile at her as we mount the drawing. When we're done, it actually looks like a real work of art.

Seeing it in its frame gives me some fresh perspective, and I realise that I've been so focused on the details that I lost sight of the beauty and creativity of the drawing itself. Working from Alice's vision spared me the process of creativity (pondering the genesis of ideas we are shown in her visions is an interesting conundrum—one we've not yet solved), but it also took away the sense of myself as an _artist_.

"Next time, I won't show you," Alice promises me, as excited as I am at the prospect of sharing my artistic awakening.

While I sit the frame on the easel, Alice calls Esme and Carlisle, and they rush upstairs to see the long-awaited finished work. They are amazed by the realism and beauty that I've found in everything I've drawn, especially the old truck, and they marvel at the obvious skill as much as the control required to draw it.

Esme wonders if Carlisle could draw, and then he wonders the same thing—and doubts he could. Despite his surgical skills, he doesn't think he could treat a pencil as carefully as he'd need to. It's interesting listening to his thoughts, because he is quite sure his infinite patience for living creatures wouldn't translate into the necessary focus for an inanimate object.

I nod to acknowledge his valid perspective. "If I hadn't seen that I could achieve this in Alice's vision, I would've given up months ago. It was surprisingly impossible at first."

Esme wraps an arm around me. "You're going to be fine, Wadie," she gushes. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks," I say. Then I can't help teasing them both. "If you ask Carlisle, he might try drawing something for you."

They both laugh at that; they only need to glance at each other to understand how the other feels.

" _You're_ the artist of the family," Carlisle decrees.

"Art could be your next focus," Alice suggests excitedly. "You could study fine art at college."

I quirk an eyebrow; we all know that I'm taking the courses Bella is. "Maybe next time," I reply, humouring her, although _next time_ will—as long as Bella has her way—be Bella's first foray into college after her change, so I will follow her lead then, too.

Alice sighs martyrishly as she still sees me studying English literature.

"How about you find an online course we can do together?" I suggest, wanting to give her something, considering I still haven't broken the news about Seth's post-graduation plan to whisk Bella and me away on a week-long camping trip.

She beams at me. "Deal!" She pictures us exploring mixed-media art forms, and me designing and creating fabric for her to use in her clothing. I nod to show I'm on board, though my thoughts are already shifting back to Bella.

Guessing my thoughts, Esme asks, "Do you have time to hunt with us?"

"Of course," I assure her. "I'd like that."

She beams and takes my hand, looking to Carlisle and Alice to check they're coming with us; then the four of us race downstairs and out into the woods.

When I return to Bella's side, she looks restless and I regret being away so long. No doubt the finals are preying on her mind; her sleep-talking was all revision questions and answers. But she smiles in her sleep as I slip into bed with her, and I know that she would rather I spent some time with Esme and Carlisle, so I let go of the bad feeling and focus on this peaceful moment—and on my joy at completing my project.

The day progresses as predicted. There are no surprises in the exams, not even for Bella. Alice sees that Bella will get 92 percent in History and 89 percent in Calculus, while Alice and I both engineer our answers for scores of between 93 and 98 percent in each of our exams. To pad out the tedious hours, we amuse ourselves by making up silly answers and laughing at the ridiculous answers I'm hearing in the less able students' thoughts.

In the afternoon, the three of us relax for a couple of hours, before Bella starts preparing for the next exam. It isn't until our fourth exam that she asks how much warning Alice gets of what the questions will be.

"Depends how quickly they write it," Alice replies nonchalantly—and then she and I laugh at Bella's dawning indignation.

"That's cheating!" she exclaims hotly.

"We haven't given you any of the answers," I point out, "or even any of the questions. All we've done is what the teacher does anyway when we're revising, with a slightly tighter focus."

"But I thought I was—"

"You _are_."

"Not on my own."

"Bella," Alice says patiently, "how is it any different from using our advanced knowledge to supplement what you've learned in class?"

"Or our perfect memories to check an answer?" I add. "That saves you time, too, but you don't call that cheating."

Bella sighs, then nods slowly. "I guess it just caught me off guard."

I pull her into my arms and kiss her on the forehead. "You and your amazing brain are the reason you'll do well in these exams, not us."

She relaxes into my embrace, but after a moment, her pulse quickens anew. Alice and I chuckle at what she's just realised—that she _could_ ask us the answers, or at least find out how well she's doing so far.

"You're doing brilliantly, Bella," Alice assures her. "You don't need to worry."

Bella sighs again, then rests her head against my shoulder. "Can I stop studying?" she quips.

"Tomorrow," Alice promises, teasing her—because after tomorrow, her exams will be over.

"I can't wait till _I_ have a perfect memory, too," she declares, and I can't help but tense—will she decide college is too much hard work and change her mind about waiting?

She feels my tension and sits up. "I haven't changed my mind," she reassures me. "I was just venting."

I smile. "Good to know."

She relaxes back into my arms. "Tomorrow afternoon, I want to go somewhere sunny," she requests.

"I'd like that," I murmur, following Alice's thoughts as she looks for a suitably isolated, long-lasting patch of sunshine.

She finds us somewhere I've never taken Bella before, and it is as glorious as we could hope for. The sun feels unseasonably warm. There is no one in range of my telepathy, and no sound besides the cheerful singing of birds and ceaseless activity of insects and plants. Bella and I wile away the hours staring into each other's eyes, kissing, and discussing everything and nothing—from pop culture to the big philosophical questions—and life is utterly perfect.

The weekend is similarly peaceful, barring one slight hiccup. Phil broke his femur during training—he tangled with the catcher while demonstrating a slide—so Renée's plans to attend our graduation are spoiled. Bella is naturally disappointed, so I'm glad Renée waited until our finals were all done to break the news—although she seems to forget her disappointment when Renée goes on to tell her about her disastrous sky diving attempt. Bella's obvious disapproval is so endearingly sweet, though she has nothing but kind words for her beloved mother, and I figure that she is frustrated with Phil for not taking better care of his "irresponsible" wife.

Finally allowing myself to believe that I will have at least a year before Bella asks me to change her makes graduation day a much happier occasion than it might have been. When I arrive at Bella's, she is wearing a pretty blue top I've never seen before. The neckline is a little deeper than she usually goes for and the material is a blend of Egyptian cotton and silk, so I figure it was a gift from Alice.

Keeping it simple, I say, "You are so beautiful."

My gaze must be too intense, though, for Charlie pushes between us and perfunctorily seconds my comment as he guides Bella to his car. Last week, he insisted that it was his parental right to drive his daughter to her graduation ceremony, and I would've been happy to meet them there, but Bella wanted us to go together. I almost tried to talk her out of it (to give her some quality time with her father), but I'm glad I didn't because Charlie is delighted to have me in the back of the police cruiser, behind the fiberglass divider, and Bella is amused by my amusement—and no doubt by Charlie's grin, which widens every time he glances in his rearview mirror.

When we arrive at school, Charlie makes sure to get between us again, putting an arm around her shoulders to walk her to the gym.

"Are you excited?" he asks her.

"Not really," she replies in typical nonchalant fashion.

"Bella, this is a big deal," he argues. "You're graduating from high school. It's the real world for you now. College. Living on your own…" I get the distinct impression he wishes she really would be _on her own_ , exploring and discovering the big wide world without me holding her back—and without the risk that I'll let her down again. "You're not my little girl anymore," he adds, choking up.

"Dad," she moans. "Please don't get all weepy on me."

"Who's weepy?" he growls. "Now, why aren't you excited?"

"Ask me again _after_ I manage not to trip on stage."

He chuckles at the melodramatics and squeezes her shoulders. When we arrive at the back door of the gym and he tries to walk in with us, Ms Cope shoos him off to the main entrance where the other parents are waiting. Then she waves us inside. She is supposed to tell us about the process—that we have to line up alphabetically in preparation for sitting by the stage in the order our names will be called—but her thoughts scatter as she watches me pull on my graduation gown, marvelling at the way the hideous yellow actually makes me look less pale than usual (and therefore even more gorgeous).

I take advantage of her distraction to follow Bella towards the back of the line, which Bella immediately realises isn't what I should be doing. She quirks an eyebrow at me and then looks over at Mr Varner, her math teacher, who is trying to enforce the alphabetical order.

"Do you want me to go?" I tease, receiving an eye roll in response—but her eyes abort the action when she notices I'm now wearing my graduation gown. Her mouth turns down at the corner even as her heart thuds unevenly. Does she agree with the receptionist?

Though I doubt she would believe me, I hate the yellow graduation garb as much as she does. Not for myself (clothing seems entirely unimportant to me), but for the near-constant stream of complaints it inspires in all who are forced to wear it. It is as if everyone transforms into Rosalie.

Before I can tease Bella about putting on _her_ robe, Jessica sees us.

"Hey, Bella!" she exclaims, waving to encourage Bella to walk faster.

Bella seems understandably confused by the friendly reception, but it's clear from the shallow girl's thoughts that her fond memories of school have given her a mental block of sorts regarding her recent negativity. The fact that Mike has agreed to try again with their relationship is another mood booster.

"Can you believe it?" she gushes, beaming at both of us as we join her, before focusing on Bella. "It's so amazing. I mean, it seems like we just met, and now we're graduating together. Can you believe it's over? I feel like screaming!"

"So do I," Bella mutters.

I can't help chuckling as I give Bella a quick kiss on the cheek—but then I want to curse as Mr Varner spots me. My bronze hair is too recognizable; I should've put my graduation cap on.

"Up front, Mister Cullen," he barks, fully prepared to march down here and drag me to my place with the other Cs (and half expecting to have to, despite my usually impeccable behaviour, given what he knows of my attachment to Bella).

I nod to him to show that I'll move without further inducement and give Bella another kiss on the cheek, before reluctantly heading towards the front of the line. I feel bad about leaving her with Jessica, especially when the girl launches into a long and pointless speech the moment I turn away.

"This is all just so incredible. Do you remember your first day here? We were friends, like, right away. From the first time we saw each other. Amazing. And now I'm off to California and you'll be in Alaska and I'm going to miss you so much! You have to promise that we'll get together sometimes! I'm so glad you're having a party. That's perfect. Because we really haven't spent much time together in a while and now we're all leaving…"

Ben Chaney is already in line, marking the spot where I need to stand. He nods to me as I approach, then looks away almost before I have time to return the gesture. He is still uncomfortable around me, and I guess I can understand that; it took me a long time to get over my jealousy of Mike, and Ben has none of my supposed advantages.

Curiously, Alice isn't here yet, and I can't hear her thoughts or my parents' yet either. But I don't mind the opportunity to focus on Bella; the chatter in the room (verbal and mental) is noisy enough to wade through. As I watch Bella through Jessica's eyes, I glance around the room, careful not to meet anyone's eye. Jessica isn't the only one whose nostalgia might inspire inapposite outpourings of affection.

Bella looks bemused as Jessica drones on and on, but her face gradually brightens until she is genuinely smiling. I'm glad she's happy to be parting on good terms.

Finally, I feel my family's familiar minds. Their distant thoughts are all but drowned out by the sea of voices around me, and I am just starting to focus on their specific thoughts, for practice, when Mr Varner vents his frustration in a mental shout that feels as though he's screaming in my ear.

The poor man has lost all patience as he storms past me to grab Tyler Crowley, whom he has spoken to three or four times already. He has to physically turn the gregarious kid away from Lauren Mallory and Conner Matheson and push him down the line towards Ben and me.

Lauren snorts and tosses her head, but when I meet her eye, she flinches and looks away without voicing any snide remarks.

I step back a little to let Tyler take his place between Ben and me. After moving into the gap, he claps us both on the shoulder.

"This is it, boys," he announces gravely, before his face splits into a wide grin. "The day we become men."

Ben is as unimpressed as I, but we both manage half a smile and a quick nod. Fortunately, Alice's arrival spares us from further sentimental rhetoric. She shoves me playfully aside, and I nudge her back even as I make a little more room for her.

"Lucky you got a ride with Bella and her dad," she says to me, commandeering the conversation before Tyler can. "Carlisle got called up at the hospital—a baby was born with an enormous hole in its heart, so they had to operate right away."

While Ben and Tyler ask after the outcome and then marvel at Carlisle's life-saving talents, another parent (a surgical nurse at the hospital) is passing around the story outside. She gushes about his talent and compliments him for saving the baby _and_ finishing up in time to get them all to graduation. He accepts the praise graciously, though he enjoys the fact that, thanks to Alice, he not only knew before he even went in that they wouldn't miss our graduation, but also exactly how to save the tiny baby.

The ceremony is about to begin when Jacob's conflicted thoughts intrude on my mind. He and his father have come to see Bella graduate. Of course I'm not going to get to enjoy this moment without something dragging me down. It's a struggle to hide my fury—my hands have clenched into fists and won't relax—and Alice doesn't fare much better when her vision of the ceremony abruptly disappears. Charlie's warm greeting does nothing to settle my temper either. As I watch them park themselves beside him, I realise that he actually saved the space for them; I had mistakenly thought that the other parents were unconsciously keeping their distance from the police chief. How ironic that Charlie's concealed thoughts have become almost as frustrating as Bella's!

But at least they don't draw attention to themselves (yet)—so Bella won't know they're here—and I don't have to suffer Jacob's malicious thoughts for more than a minute before Mr Varner marshals us through to the seating area beside the stage. Everyone—including Jessica—finally quietens down as we take our seats. Principal Greene kicks off with his usual, thankfully brief spiel before introducing Eric Yorkie, this year's valedictorian. The nervous boy gives a pretty standard speech about this day representing the beginning of our lives as individuals, although it gets on my nerves when he goes on and on about the endless choices we all have ahead of us.

When Jessica starts thinking about Bella and me living together and studying at the University of Alaska, I focus on her ordinary curiosities with a kind of manic relief. Even when she progresses to analysing whether _she_ would want to live with Mike, I find her thoughts usefully distracting. And then Lauren thinks my name. The nasty girl is amusing herself by calculating how long it'll take for college to open my eyes and show me how unappealing Bella really is. Then she starts planning a trip to Alaska in the term break…

Alongside my disgust, I'm abruptly diverted—Lauren's cruel nature is so much worse than Rosalie's; I hate to think what she'd be like as a vampire.

Alice glances at me when she sees me refusing the girl entry to our house. _What's she thinking now?_ , she asks curiously. She looks for my answer, then promises to come up with a much greater humiliation—one that won't paint me as the bad guy.

Giving the horrid girl food poisoning is my favourite, but we both agree engineering something like that is risky for Bella and our other guests.

My patience with our soon-to-be-former classmates has already worn thin when Tyler starts humming to himself, making it considerably harder to block his inane thoughts. He's got one of Justin Timberlake's new songs stuck in his head… Except he can only remember the bit right at the end, so in his head, he's singing over and over, _It feels like something's heating up, can I leave here with you?_ Then, in falsetto (for the girls' part), _I know there's something heating up, gonna leave here with you_.

Even accepting his diploma doesn't distract him. If I were more interested in this moment for myself, he would have ruined it almost as effectively as Jacob is trying to; as it is, I manage to wave to Carlisle and Esme in the audience without grimacing, which is all that matters.

Watching Bella cross the stage to accept her diploma is unexpectedly moving. Were it not for my strength of will, she would not have lived to see this day. But with Jacob's lusty thoughts and voice filling my mind, I can't deny that all my efforts would have been for nothing had he and his pack-brothers not protected her from Laurent and Victoria.

Because Principal Greene has been rushing through the list of names, Bella has to wait in a little queue on stage, which gives her time to glance over to the huddle of her raucous supporters. Jacob crows with triumph when she smiles, using it as proof she has forgiven him—which makes him far less reticent about remembering that stolen kiss. It is hardest of all to listen to his confidence that my cold, hard lips must seem inadequate now that she knows what it's like to kiss warm, soft, _human_ lips.

I try to focus on the audience's amusement at their police chief whooping as his daughter receives her diploma, but Charlie's happiness saddens me, too. As angry as I am with him right now, I know it's nothing to the anger _I_ deserve. I caused his beloved daughter unimaginable pain, leaving him with a distraught child who all but gave up on life, and, one day too soon, I'm going to take her away from him permanently. (Seth's suggestion of letting Charlie see her after the change relies on too many unknowns for me to put my faith in it.)

Bella looks dazed as she files off the stage behind a blubbering Jessica. She doesn't react to Principal Greene's pronouncement that we're officially _graduates_ , then jumps a little when the entire class shouts out and throws their graduation caps into the air. She pulls hers off quickly, a few seconds too late, then just lets it drop to the ground.

While I watch Bella, Alice steals my cap from my head and swings it around by the tassel. _This is a celebration—lighten up!_ , she teases, but I just shrug. I'm glad she's cheerful again despite her loss of sight, but I can't enjoy this moment while Jacob's thoughts are searing through my brain.

She tosses the cap at me, then makes a show of stepping backwards into a gap in the crowd that immediately swallows her up. I can't help cracking a smile at my sister the comedian, and she chuckles, pleased to have amused me. _See you at home!_ , she thinks, before turning her focus to this evening, while I refocus on Bella.

"Oh, Bella!" Jessica blubbers through the roar of conversation. "I can't believe we're done."

"I can't believe it's all over," Bella mumbles in reply; she looks a little surprised when Jessica throws her arms around her neck, but hugs back without an obvious delay.

"You have to promise we won't lose touch."

"I'm so glad I know you, Jessica," Bella replies, dodging the requested 'promise'. "It was a good two years."

"It was," Jessica agrees, sighing, and then sniffs loudly. Then she sees Lauren and drops her arms from around Bella. "Lauren!" she squeals, waving over her head and pushing through the massed yellow gowns and growing numbers of family members to reach her.

Left alone, Bella looks around at all the celebrating families; she isn't looking in my direction, but from the pieces of viewpoints from half a dozen or so minds, I can see she has a smile on her face. She turns when I am a yard and a half away, and the way her face lights up makes all of Jacob's nasty little thoughts pop like soap bubbles.

"How does it feel to be a graduate?" I ask as we walk into each other's arms.

She grins. "Ask me next time," she murmurs, rising up on tip-toe to kiss me.

Under ordinary circumstances, I would instigate a kiss without hesitation, but with Jacob watching, I take the opportunity to let her lead—and lead she does. Despite the crowd around us (not that anyone—aside from Jacob, Billy, and Charlie—is paying us much attention), Bella throws her arms around my neck and plants a kiss on my equally willing lips.

It is childish of me, but I almost enjoy Jacob's intense jealousy, which conveniently disrupts his memory slideshow, as much as the kiss itself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Six: Fiancé**

Surrounded by the high-energy crowd as we are, our kiss is only witnessed by a dozen people; but one of them jeopardises the safety of everyone in the gym. Billy sees that Jacob is struggling to hold in the shaking and mercifully tells Charlie that they have to go. While Jacob grudgingly accepts that being around me will take more control than he has right now, Bella settles back on her heels and beams up at me—and then Tyler bumps into us. Although I made sure Bella wasn't jostled, I can't help frowning at that stupid lyric pair he's still singing to himself. Bella notices my irritation with obvious confusion.

"Tyler's got a song stuck in his head," I explain, "and he only knows a couple of lines—vaguely."

She grins. "Which one?"

" _Senorita_ , by Justin Timberlake."

That makes her laugh for some reason, which she kindly explains. "It's funny that you know who Justin Timberlake is."

"I've heard more of his songs than _you_ have," I tease. "Shall I demonstrate my extensive knowledge of pop culture?"

"You'd sing for me?"

"If you like."

She scoffs at the apparently silly response, then says, "Sing, then."

"Now?"

"I'm curious," she teases, and then opens her eyes wide for maximum effect. "Won't you sing for me?" she entreats, tapping her ear and being deliberately flirtatious.

I am tempted to remind her just how effective her seductions are on me, but I know she'll hate to blush scarlet in front of everyone here, so I keep it to myself for now. I don't feel like singing _Senorita_ , but it only takes a moment to think of another of Justin's songs— _My Love_ —and to add my own twist to the melody (partly to make it my own and partly so I'll have time to sing the entire first verse). I lean in close, letting my lips brush the helix of her ear, so that no one else will overhear; I am singing just for her. "If I wrote you a symphony, just to say how much you mean to me—what would you do?" She chuckles as she recognises the song, and I'm glad of my choice. "If I told you you were beautiful, would you date me on the regular? Baby, I've been around the world, but I ain't seen myself another girl—like you. This ring here represents my heart, but there's just one thing I need from you—say _I do_."

She scoffs at that and shoves me gently, her eyes bright with amusement.

"Don't you like that song?" I reply, feigning innocence.

"Well, it sounds much better when _you_ sing it."

"I'll sing the rest of it for you tonight, if you like."

"Only if you don't mind singing so slowly," she replies, no doubt because I've never offered to sing for her before (unless it's because I sped up the tempo?).

"Of course I don't mind. I would have offered before now, but I was trying not to show off," I tease (remembering Bella's quip from Alice's vision of this evening, when I present Bella with my drawing of her). "But I could sing you an Italian opera instead."

"What do you sing to yourself?"

"Mostly opera."

She smiles. "I'd like that."

Before I can answer (to tell her that I hardly sing to myself at all these days; it had been my way of drowning out thoughts—my own as well as others'—but since returning to Forks, I rarely feel that need), Charlie reaches us. "Congratulations, baby!" he exclaims much too loudly, almost directly into her ear, which makes her flinch a little. He throws an arm around her, deliberately dislodging her arms from around me, and twisting her away from me.

"Thanks," she murmurs, looking a little overwhelmed by his enthusiasm.

"Jacob and Billy had to take off," he says, his voice at a more appropriate level, as he turns his back fully towards me—he's talking about Jacob and he doesn't want to see the anger he expects in my eyes. "Did you see that they were here?"

"Yeah," she replies, her eyes shifting between Charlie and me. "Heard them, too."

"It was nice of them to show up."

"Mm-hmm."

"Where do you want to go out for dinner?" he asks, allowing her to close the subject. "The sky's the limit."

"I can cook."

"Don't be silly. Do you want to go to the Lodge?" he suggests, naming _his_ favourite restaurant.

"Sure, the Lodge, cool," Bella agrees, struggling to sound enthused.

He grins at her, and then turns his head in my general direction. "You coming, too, Edward?"

I am amazed and gratified, not only by the offer but also by his use of my actual name ("Edmund" and "Edburn" have been his go-to names since I got back). "Er," I reply oh so eloquently, as I try to figure out what to do. Should I deprive him of some quality time with Bella, or should I accept this miraculous olive branch?

Esme calls out my name to interrupt before my hesitation becomes noticeable, as she and Carlisle make their way through the crowd to reach us. She is still taking the final step towards me when she wraps me in her arms. "I'm so proud of you!" she exclaims, squeezing me tightly, her thoughts full of praise for the many trials I have overcome to arrive at this happy day, before turning to Bella and her father. After greeting Charlie, she pulls Bella into a thankfully much gentler hug. "You were wonderful."

"I didn't trip," Bella jokes, and Esme laughs with her, then glances around, wondering where Alice is.

"Where's your sister?" she asks me.

"She said something about the party, then took off."

Carlisle chuckles and rests an arm on my shoulder. "She's probably halfway home by now."

Esme grins, remembering the thousands of lights she, Jasper, and Emmett have hung along the full length of our driveway to guide our party guests to the house (and ensure they'll never find it again). "She's very excited." Then she smiles at Charlie. "If you and Bella don't have any plans for dinner, we'd love for you to join us at home—I promise it'll be quiet. The party doesn't start for a few hours." (She has the ingredients for a straightforward, two-course meal, ordered at the same time as the party fare in case Charlie and Bella would prefer 'normal' food over the fancy hors-d'oeuvres Alice chose for the party.)

Charlie smiles, and his thoughts actually sound cheerful. "Thanks, Esme, I'd like that."

"Would you like to drive with Bella and we'll take Edward?" Carlisle offers, to give them at least some time alone, while idly wondering what it felt like to sit in the back of a police car.

Charlie agrees and Bella manages not to look unhappy about being apart for fifteen minutes.

As soon as Carlisle, Esme, and I are alone in the Mercedes, I describe in detail Charlie's glee at having me in the back seat of his police car, glad to entertain them. They laugh when I tell them that he really had locked me in, as if I were a criminal, daring Bella's wrath if I'd noticed and drawn attention to it. Despite that, Esme thinks Charlie is genuinely warming to me again, and she couldn't be happier.

Knowing how anxious Bella's mental silence makes me, Carlisle makes sure to stay close enough to Charlie's cruiser that I can hear as much of his mind as I ever can. The man's emotions are still churning, and he feels surprisingly vulnerable.

"You look really nice," he tells Bella earnestly. "I wish I'd thought to get you something. Sorry."

"Don't be silly, Dad."

"It's not silly. I feel like I don't always do everything for you that I should."

"That's ridiculous. You do a fantastic job. World's best dad. And—" she breaks off, obviously struggling to express herself, before clearing her throat and trying again. "And I'm really glad I came to live with you, Dad. It was the best idea I ever had." Esme enthusiastically seconds that statement, making Carlisle laugh as he concurs with somewhat less fervour, and right now, I can't help but agree with all three of them. "So don't worry—you're just experiencing post-graduation pessimism."

Charlie snorts. "Maybe. But I'm sure I slipped up in a few places. I mean, I never thought I needed to teach you how to throw a punch! Guess I was wrong about that."

"I thought you were on Jacob's side," she replies, a sour edge to her tone, and I can't help leaning forward; Esme strokes my hair in a gesture of comfort and I throw her an approximation of a smile.

"No matter what side I'm on," Charlie replies, confirming he's on Jacob's, "if someone kisses you without your permission, you should be able to make your feelings clear without hurting yourself." (I don't know whether to be pleased that he at least grasps that crucial point or even angrier at his cavalier attitude to Jacob's assault; Esme shares my disapproval, but she still can't help trying to defend him because she knows he's a good man and a loving father.) "You didn't keep your thumb inside your fist, did you?"

"No, Dad. That's kind of sweet in a weird way, but I don't think lessons would have helped. Jacob's head is _really_ hard."

Charlie laughs. "Hit him in the gut next time."

" _Next time?_ " she repeats incredulously, while I imagine punching _him_ in the gut. Esme sees my fury and seconds the sentiment behind it even as she gently points out that Charlie wouldn't feel that way about anyone else forcing a kiss on his daughter. I can't find it in my heart to be as generous.

"Aw, don't be too hard on the kid. He's young."

"He's obnoxious."

"He's still your friend."

"That's the reason," Esme murmurs, doing her best to convince me. "Jacob isn't a bad boy."

I nod, reluctantly, acknowledging that painful truth, and then sigh at the _other_ painful truth—if I were him, I would have done all I could to coerce _Bella_ into kissing _me_ , which, if I'm honest, is almost as bad—and then Bella says, "I know," and sighs, and the parallel response amuses me enough to soothe the majority of my anger.

"I don't really know what the right thing to do here is, Dad."

"Yeah," Charlie agrees. "The right thing isn't always real obvious. Sometimes the right thing for one person is the wrong thing for someone else. So… good luck figuring that out."

"Thanks," she mutters dryly.

Charlie doesn't reply, so they lapse into agonising silence. I hate that Bella is almost certainly thinking about Jacob, but the bent of Charlie's unexpected wisdom leads me to hope she is working through the acceptance that she can't spare Jacob's feelings without hurting mine or her own. There is no "right thing" for all three of us.

When our driveway is half a mile away, Charlie starts slowing. "Where's the turnoff, again?" he asks. "I should've let Carlisle go first. They ought to clear out their drive—it's impossible to find in the dark."

"Just around the next bend, I think. You know, you're right—it _is_ impossible to find. Alice said she put a map in the invitation, but even so, maybe everyone will get lost." She actually sounds hopeful; my parents and I share a chuckle, and Esme encourages me to keep the emotion going with a smile.

"Maybe," Charlie says as the road curves to the east. "Or maybe not."

In the silence that follows Charlie's wry statement, I imagine Bella gaping at the thousands of twinkle lights advertising the start of our normally concealed driveway.

"Alice," she says sourly.

"Wow," Charlie says as they turn onto the drive, awestruck by the regular placement of lights every 20 feet along the entire stretch of our three-mile driveway. "She doesn't do things halfway, does she?" he remarks, not sure whether to be impressed or horrified.

I can't wait till they see the house—and they don't disappoint.

Bella and Charlie are gobsmacked when they step inside and see the nightclub Alice has created, complete with enormous speakers and strobe lights. The lights are currently on the lowest setting but still flood the room with regular pulses of purple and red.

After half a minute of silent gawking, Charlie bursts out laughing. Bella scowls at him, but Esme laughs, too, so he doesn't feel remotely guilty or remorseful for his amusement.

Esme puts an arm around Bella. "You only graduate from high school once," she says, enjoying the joke.

Bella huffs and mutters, "Better only be once like _this_."

I can't help chuckling, though I'm torn; this extravagance will surely refresh her worries about Alice organising our wedding. Bella scowls at me for laughing, but walks into my arms when I hold them out for her, so I assume I'm forgiven.

Alice decides it's time to show herself. She runs downstairs—keeping to a brisk human pace—and stops beside Bella, who makes a show of hiding her face between her hand and my chest. So Alice turns to Charlie.

"What do you think?" she asks him, grinning.

"It's gonna be a night to remember," he replies. "The kids will be talking about this for _years_."

 _Only until the wedding_ , Alice thinks smugly. "Thanks, Charlie!"

After he declines a tour, Esme guides him into the dining room, which is a smorgasbord of classy nibbles, roasted meats, and sweet treats—our usual dining table is resting along the far wall in between two equally large tables, completely covered by platters of food and book-ended by two massive, two-tiered bowls of fruit punch. Bella and I follow after, while Alice goes back to affixing little LED lights to the ceilings and walls, recreating constellations that humans will recognise, as well as some that only vampires can see in the night sky.

"This food is for the party," Esme says, somewhat unnecessarily, "but you're welcome to have anything from here, or I've got some steak and potatoes I can cook if you'd rather have a proper meal."

"This looks delicious," Bella assures her.

Charlie looks a little overwhelmed, but Esme subtly stands him in front of the roast meat, so he soon recovers and begins helping himself to the thick chucks of roast beef.

The smell of all this varied food turns my stomach (and Carlisle's and Esme's), metaphorically speaking, but the three of us each pick up a plate and select the least fragrant options—a couple of tofu-based morsels, miniature bread rolls, and pear flowers (pieces of pear that Alice has cut into stylised roses). Bella picks up three of the littlest options—a bite-sized hamburger, a mini asparagus roll, and a mascarpone cheese-stuffed date—and I can't help worrying that she is deliberately eating less to help conceal how little my parents and I are eating.

She sees my concern and murmurs, "I'll eat when it's over," which makes me smile.

"Shall we sit in the lounge?" Esme asks when Charlie seems to have filled his plate to his satisfaction. "Or we could sit out on the deck if it's not too cold for you."

Charlie smiles. "Outside would be good," he says, enjoying Bella's rapid nodding.

It is as much of a relief for my parents and I to go outside and breathe the fresh air as it is for Bella and Charlie to escape the larger-than-life nightclub theme. We sit at the conveniently sized four-seater outdoor table, and Esme asks us what we all thought of the graduation ceremony, which starts up a pleasant conversation.

When Charlie goes back for seconds, I drag Bella inside with me and encourage her to share a plate; it seems to work, as she chooses a second stuffed date as well as a mini frittata and two dainty little club sandwiches. I add a mini spring roll, two large strawberries, and a handful of grapes, hoping she'll eat them, too.

Alice breezes past as we're heading back outside, timing her trip perfectly.

"Aren't you going to join us?" I ask her, following her instructions.

"I'm too excited to eat!" she exclaims, making sure Charlie hears, because she knows she can get away with that excuse. "And there's still so much to do!"

Bella smiles, pleased that Alice is being spared the obligation of eating, but she can't resist advising her to ease off a little on the decorations. It falls on deaf ears, of course.

Charlie eats his fill, seeming not to care that my parents and I barely eat, and Bella eats all the food on our plate, so all in all, we share an enjoyable hour. When Alice comes out saying it's time to get dressed, he takes his cue to leave, smug about the quiet night at home he's about to have.

"Did Bella tell you she's staying here with me tonight?" Alice asks him on the way out.

Charlie laughs. "No, but I expected as much." There is a pleasing degree of tolerance in his thoughts given that spending the night here means spending it with _me_ , too; maybe he _is_ starting to warm to me.

"Dad—"

"Stay up late, Bells," he jokes, giving her a one-armed hug.

" _Ha,_ _ha_ ," she retorts, returning the hug.

The moment his car disappears around the bend, Alice grabs Bella and pulls her upstairs. She has already selected my outfit, grey suit pants and a button-up waistcoat, so I follow them upstairs and then continue down the hallway to my room. I keep my white shirt and underwear, but swap everything else, including my shoes and socks.

While I change, Alice and Bella discuss—happily, it's not heated enough to be called an argument—Bella's outfit. As they debate, Alice's vision constantly shifts. For a second, there's even a moment when Bella is wearing stilettos that are even taller than the one she wore to prom, and then I catch a glimpse of Bella standing on the bottom stair, which abruptly cuts off when my dear sister suddenly starts translating the Battle Hymn of the Republic into Arabic. And then she offers Bella her last-resort compromise to cut the discussion short. What exactly is she trying to hide from me? She is definitely happy about it… and more than a little smug… so I try to be patient and not let my illogical anxieties get the better of me.

Playing the piano helps occupy my fingers (if not my mind) while I wait. When Bella is finally dressed and coiffed to Alice's satisfaction, I move across to the bottom of the stairs so I can watch her descent. She is still wearing the pretty blue top, but now it is paired with a dark blue skirt that shimmers subtly in the light, and her hair is twisted into a fancy braid and sprinkled with glittering crystal flowers.

"You are so beautiful," I say again—because it bears repeating.

"Only one thing's missing," she says, blushing softly as she picks her way downstairs towards me.

"Me?" I tease.

" _Close_ …" She draws out the word, making me wait. _Alice is pleased_ , I remind myself. Then Bella thrusts out her left hand. "Give it to me," she demands long-sufferingly.

For a full second, I'm stunned into absolute stillness. Is she asking for the ring? _She wants to wear her engagement ring at the party?_

She tries not to laugh at my expression—to hold onto her stern mien—but she can't help breaking character after a moment. "Do you need me to repeat it?" she teases. Then, "I'll wait here while you—"

"No need," I interrupt, retrieving the ring from my pocket; these long months, I have carried it everywhere with me—but no longer!

She sighs heavily, but there is amusement in the sound, and then she relaxes her fingers so that her hand is no longer rigidly pointed in my direction. I take her hand in mine, instinctively sinking to one knee as I raise the ring up to her finger.

"Don't say anything," she murmurs, pre-empting my obvious next move.

To oblige her, I make a show of pressing my lips together—no matter how much I want to express how much she means to me. But I know anything I say would be a belated attempt to make up for all the things I should've said but didn't (in my first proposal) and for the lies I _shouldn't_ have said but did (last September). So if she'd rather I say nothing, there's nothing better I _can_ say.

I shake off that last lingering guilt at my many mistakes and focus on this joyous moment as I slide the ring onto her finger, where it will hopefully stay for the rest of our lives. When I look up, the joy I feel is mirrored in her face, her bright eyes. My lips part, responding to my desire to express my love for her, but I hold back the words and settle for pressing my lips to the back of her hand. She smiles, rewarding me for my restraint.

The moment I stand up, Alice appears by my side. (It sounds like an intrusion, but without her arrival, I would have initiated an inopportunely passionate embrace that would render Bella breathless and adversely flushed when our guests start arriving.) She is wearing a sequined tank top and red leather pants, designed to highlight her pale skin for garnering just the right amount of awe without being _too_ intimidating.

 _Thank me_ , she teasingly instructs.

"Thank you, Alice," I say, happy to oblige.

She nods then turns to Bella. "Now you."

Bella laughs. "Thank you, Alice," she dutifully repeats. "You look great."

Alice grins at her then cocks her head as the first car turns onto our driveway. It is Mike's minivan, full of our schoolmates, and it's the first in a convoy. Though they're all excited and curious, they're still nervous about coming to our house in the middle of nowhere, so they're sticking together. _Their_ instincts rightly tell them that it's dangerous. But when I look at Bella, so alive, so warm, so beautiful, I finally believe that her instincts aren't faulty—she is exactly where she belongs. She is my soulmate, and I am hers. (Does that mean I still have my soul after all? For Bella's sake, I dearly hope so!)

Thanks to Alice's deliberate positioning, once our guests get over the marvel that our house is and has become, the next thing they see is the ring on Bella's finger. Their nerves vanish as they latch onto this very ordinary, very _human_ ritual.

"Edward asked me to marry him," Bella gushes, playing the part of excited fiancée perfectly as she holds out her hand, and I have to marvel at this beautiful creature. No one would ever suspect her of successfully concealing this news for three minutes, let alone three months.

While everyone voices the traditional congratulations, whatever their _true_ feelings on the matter (Angela alone is genuinely happy for us; the others are variously scandalised, disturbed, or amused), Jessica grabs Bella's hand and eyes the ring with envy.

"It's gorgeous!" she exclaims, trying to ignore Mike's obvious disgust. "Have you got a date in mind?" she adds, already wondering where we'll get married and hoping she won't be left out—her imagination leaps to us getting married on a tropical island somewhere, paying for all our guests to have a week-long holiday in paradise. She resolves to be as nice as she possibly can—to both of us—in order to maximise her chances of being invited.

"August thirteenth," Bella replies—and their latent suspicions flare into an immediate presumption that Bella is pregnant even before Jessica asks for confirmation that she means August 13th of _this_ year.

Even Angela, who believes that we are both much too careful to make such a careless mistake, experiences a moment of doubt in light of this tight timeframe.

"Edward and I are going to be living together in the fall," Bella explains, obviously trying to fend off the shotgun wedding rumour, "and we want to get married first."

Only Angela is remotely swayed by the old-fashioned excuse, but she still doesn't understand the rush (until she wonders if _Jacob Black_ is the cause). The others are already thinking Bella won't make it to college; Lauren is trying to spot a baby bump hidden beneath Bella's top.

Before anyone dares to ask us outright about Bella's condition (which would make Bella blush scarlet and _confirm_ their suspicions), Alice commandeers the group's attention by turning up the music—and the lights.

"Let's dance!" she cries, sashaying across the floor to take Mike's elbow and lead him into clear space, which draws Jessica along as well. As the others begin to follow, Angela steps up to Bella and hugs her tightly; Ben keeps close, feeling protective of his girlfriend, though he is also nervous about the pressure our announcement puts on him… after all, Angela's dad is a minister.

"I'm so happy for you, Bella," Angela says, hoping that we'll get our _happily ever after_ , because Bella deserves it.

"Thanks, Angela," Bella murmurs. "I hope you can come."

"Of course!"

When they drop their arms, Angela turns to me, unsure whether to hug me as well or simply congratulate me. Ben sees her intent and stiffens; my proposal to Bella notwithstanding, he still can't forget that I originally expressed an interest in Angela. I feel guilty for this unintended, lingering consequence of my otherwise successful match-making. So I step behind Bella and wrap my arms around her, freeing Angela from her indecisiveness and Ben from the horror of watching his girlfriend hug another man.

"Perhaps your father can marry us," I suggest (much to Alice's delight).

"Would you like me to ask him?" Angela replies, smiling.

Bella smiles back, though her heart is pounding enough for both of us, vibrating through my chest. "That would be great."

Angela doesn't see anything amiss in her expression; all she sees is two people blissfully in love. She promises to ask her dad tomorrow, before suggesting to Ben that they join the others on the dancefloor (she has picked up on his tenseness, though she thinks the cause is solely the potential pressure of our announcement). He doesn't feel like dancing, but agrees because it's an excuse to put his arms around her.

"Thank you," I whisper in Bella's ear as soon as we're alone, because I know this moment won't last—five more cars are already winding their way along our driveway.

She turns her head and presses her lips to my cheek. "I was right, though, wasn't I?" she murmurs, not wasting a moment to say _I told you so_.

I can't help chuckling. "Yes," I concede, "although August thirteenth wouldn't sound like such a rush if you'd told them three months ago."

She sighs and I regret saying something that might make her blame herself for their presumption. Then again, if she'd told them three months ago, I wouldn't have been back long enough for us to know she'd got pregnant, so her secrecy _has_ worked against her. The timing seems to fit perfectly now—she could easily be three months pregnant. _I wish_.

"Is pregnancy better than teenage impetuosity?" I ask instead, posing a somewhat rhetorical question to shift the focus—because that that is the alternative.

"No," Bella replies stoutly, but she sounds faintly amused beneath the sternness.

I move around her so that I'm standing in front of her and then raise her hands to my lips, kissing her knuckles. The old-fashioned gesture appeals to all the girls still watching us, and it helps bolster the traditional motivation for our imminent union. Bella's blush enhances the romantic image, so I encourage it further with her favourite crooked smile.

When our next guests arrive, Bella plays the part of joyful fiancée for a second time. Her happiness carries me through the less-than-gracious thoughts of our erstwhile schoolmates.

As this group moves off to join the dancers or the eaters or the explorers (whom Carlisle is keeping an eye on to ensure they stay downstairs), I'm about to offer Bella a drink when Lauren's thoughts bring me up short. She is speculating wildly—that I got bored with Bella originally because she wouldn't sleep with me, so she let me do whatever I wanted when I came back, and she was either desperate enough not to make me use protection or got pregnant deliberately in the hope of tying me down more permanently.

While I fight the urge to rip out her vicious tongue and shove it down her throat, Alice appears at my side. "Call Seth," she advises, knowing I need a serious distraction, even as she continues to plot Lauren's humiliation (the leading option at the moment is engineering a drink spill all over her white dress and Tyler's fawn trousers). _Just don't tell him the date!_

I nod jerkily. Bella looks from me to Alice, who gives her the short version (Lauren is a bitch) as she pulls her away to greet our next cohort of visitors.

Calling Seth is a good idea; I intended to call him soon anyway—Alice made me promise not to tell him about the party beforehand, and I didn't mind avoiding the question of whether Bella would want to invite Jacob.

When Sue answers, I worry that Seth already has plans, but she quickly assures me that he's around. I only have to wait half a minute, which gives me time to organise my thoughts—and to decide that I can't wait until he gets here to tell him our big news.

"Edward!" Seth exclaims breathlessly. "I heard Mum answer the phone," he explains, "but I had to throw on some pants first. What's up?"

"I didn't mind waiting," I assure him, before blurting, "Bella and I are getting married."

He laughs at once, not sounding the least bit surprised despite my big announcement. "Awesome!" Then, "Is it a secret?"

"Not anymore," I say, after checking that no one is eavesdropping on my conversation. "Our families know, but Bella wanted to wait to announce it more widely. I would've told you sooner—"

"But then Jake would find out."

"Yes."

"Can I tell Mum?"

I want to say yes—it would be so much simpler for the Quileute grapevine to spread the news—but if Bella would rather tell Jacob herself, I don't want to deny her that. Except it might already be too late if Jacob (or anyone else for that matter) is in wolf form right now and Seth can't control his thoughts after he phases… "I'll have to check with Bella first," I reply, hoping I haven't put Seth in a difficult situation.

"Okay." He chuckles, sounding reassuringly unperturbed. "You mean she doesn't know you've just told me?"

"It's possible she thinks I'm calling about something else…"

"Oh?"

"Our graduation party—can you come?"

He laughs. "I'm there," he promises. "Do I need to supply my own clothes?"

"I'll get you some," I assure him, already sorting through the possible options, although I'll probably go with the 'classic' jeans and t-shirt. "I'll meet you by the river—Alice invited the entire senior class, so there are a lot of people here."

"Ha! Okay, see you soon. _Ugh_ , I hate talking on the phone."

"Hang up then," I retort, then laugh when he immediately does.

On my way over to Bella, I listen to the conversation she and Alice are involved in, with a group of seniors we don't normally interact with. I can tell her interest in their future plans is forced, but the humans haven't noticed.

"Bella?" I ask, interrupting.

She looks over and then makes a beeline for me, glad for the excuse to escape. "What is it?"

I wrap an arm around her and guide her into an empty corner of the room. "I just told Seth about our engagement, but I don't know if you want to tell the rest of the Quileutes yourself…"

"Oh," she mumbles, dropping her gaze as her body tenses up. For a second, I'm relieved that she hasn't thought about it, but then I worry that she _has_ thought about it and still hasn't decided how to tell Jacob. Maybe she even thought about it in the car on the way here, when she told Charlie she didn't know what to do. Maybe she would've announced our engagement sooner if she'd figured it out. _I really hate Jacob Black_.

I wish I knew what to do to advise her. If only Alice could see the wolves, we could analyse the best course of action (for Bella, not for me); without her foresight, I don't think I can be objective enough to genuinely help. "Seth's on his way here now, so you don't have to decide straight away," I say instead, hoping the extra time will offer a modicum of relief.

She nods, but the tension in her body doesn't ease; the lengthened timeline doesn't help, which seems to confirm that this isn't the first time she's thought about it. As a token distraction, I encourage her to have something to drink—but she declines and instead suggests we dance! Despite my surprise, I accept without hesitation.

Alice updates the playlist so that the next song has a smoother tempo, so Bella steps onto my feet and relaxes against me while I spin us gently. I start to hear Seth's mind during the third song. He is six and a half miles away, thankfully alone in his head, and considering Jacob's likely reaction to the news. He thinks it won't be a surprise to anyone—because becoming a vampire is vastly more permanent than saying _I do_ —but he suspects (and I agree) that it will _feel_ worse to Jacob because Bella will still be 'alive', as he sees it, but it will emphatically mark the end of any chance he might have had at convincing her to leave me.

It takes less than a minute for Seth to realise that I will be able to hear his thoughts now, so he deliberately shifts his focus onto other matters (because he feels as though he's lecturing me when I can't share in the conversation). He is looking forward to finally meeting Alice, and hoping she will be as friendly as Esme and Carlisle despite the trouble his presence causes her. I hope she will be friendly, too, which makes me realise I ought to give her some warning.

She is now chatting with a group that includes Eric and Katie, so I picture going over there to join her and she picks up the vision of me telling her that Seth is approximately ten minutes away. I include a heartfelt request that she give him a chance, because he is worth getting to know.

 _I'll be nice_ , she promises, though there is an edge of sourness to her thoughts. She is understandably nervous about the impending blackness, and those nerves are expressing themselves in the more manageable feeling of irritation at having a _dog_ smelling out the house—she knows his scent from smelling the lingering taint on Bella and me, so she can imagine how bad the smell will be in person. _Don't blame me if I can't keep a straight face_.

 _The food you bought smells worse than Seth_ , I point out, and she pictures sticking her tongue out at me.

When Seth is a minute away, I give Bella a kiss on the cheek and then make my way to my room. Alice takes my place on the dancefloor, so Bella stays there with her, swaying side to side in a vaguely rhythmic sort of way.

The moment I'm upstairs, I dash to my closet. Though Alice hasn't met Seth yet, she hasn't been able to resist acquiring a number of outfits for him, sized according to my description, to suit almost every situation imaginable.

While I pull out the jeans and t-shirt I've already chosen, I debate whether to show Seth all the drawer space his clothes take up. Even Bella's clothes don't fill as much space (because Alice keeps almost all of them in _her_ closet, to curb Bella's objections). In the end, although I think Seth will be amused, I decide to wait until Alice knows him a little better.

He guesses that I'll be selecting clothes for him right now and requests something _cool_ , picturing jeans and a leather jacket. Although I do actually have a leather jacket for him, I leave it behind (I think I'll give it to him for his birthday). He wants to go barefoot (rather than wear ill-fitting shoes—and giving him perfectly sized shoes would only put the spotlight on Alice), and I think a jacket would exaggerate that unconventionality.

I wait for him to cross the river—he times his leap perfectly for minimum effort—then step into view.

 _Edward!_ , he greets happily, before shaking off the excess energy and phasing back to human form.

"Nice jump," I say, holding out the underpants.

He grins, then laughs at the expensive brand. _This what_ you _wear?_

"Yes." In answer to his next thought, wondering why I _need_ underwear, I add (before he wonders if I wore underwear before I met Bella), "We try to follow social norms as much as possible—in case of emergencies."

He acknowledges the sense in that, recognising that theme running through most of our public actions. It also puts him in mind of throwing me into the ocean at La Push beach (as an example of an unplanned exposé), even as he enjoys the comfortably soft yet supportive fabric.

"Several girls _still_ think about that, you know," I say, tossing the t-shirt at his head.

 _Do they think about me, too?_

"Occasionally," I acknowledge. "I don't mind that so much."

He grins at me, and then teases me in return for the unintended double meaning in my remark.

I let the jeans unfold and hold them up for him. "These should fit well, too. But I can get you a belt if you want."

He pulls them on, then shakes his head; he doesn't need a belt _,_ and the only one he'd want—the one that matches mine—is back at home _._ He bends a knee and the stiff fabric keeps its shape without preventing the movement or bunching up anywhere. _They're awesome!_ "Picked them out just for you," I reply, pre-empting any questions about the perfect fit, as I pass him the t-shirt.

 _Thanks!_

"You're welcome. Meet you inside?"

 _Is Alice ready to see me?_

"She's ready enough." I can hear her listening closely to my half of the conversation, glad she can hear me to make up for the loss of foresight, and she agrees with me that she has prepared herself for her vision disappearing.

 _Okay, see you at the front door_.

"It's open," I say, so that he knows to go straight inside. Alice turned up the music even louder while we were standing here, so there's no way a human could hear a knock at the door; for the same reason, the kids nearest the door shouldn't be surprised that they didn't hear a car when Seth arrives. (In fact, they probably won't even hear _him_.)

As I'm making my way downstairs, Seth reaches the door. Before entering, he knocks gently to alert the vampires in the house. Alice's future sight goes dark, and she shudders at the uncomfortable feeling of total blindness. I meet Seth at the bottom of the stairs and then beckon to Alice and Bella.

The four of us congregate in the dining room, where the music volume is at a more moderate level so we can talk. The others who want to talk (or eat) are also in there, and they immediately notice the new arrival. One or two associate him with Jacob, so I start with the introductions the moment we come to a stop, to show that Seth is _my_ friend.

"Seth, this is my sister, Alice. Alice, this is Seth."

"Nice to meet you," he says, holding out his hand.

Alice takes his hand and shakes it carefully. She is surprised at how much warmer he is than Bella, but manages not to reveal any discomfort. "Nice to meet you, too," she replies. Then she points at the large plate of rocky road, which looks out of place amongst the bite-sized desserts. "Edward said you like rocky road, so I got that for you."

Seth laughs, appreciating the gesture. "Thanks. And thanks for having me."

She smiles, and it isn't completely forced; fortunately, she agrees with me that the food smells worse than he does, so she is trying to look past the _dog_ and see the man.

Not wanting to push his luck, Seth turns to Bella next and holds out an arm. "I hear I should be congratulating you _twice_ , Bells."

She blushes and her heart stutters, but she accepts the hug and manages a quiet, "Thanks, Seth."

"Wish _I_ didn't have to go back to school," he goes on, avoiding the other topic for now.

"College isn't school?" I joke.

"That's _your_ choice," he replies, "although Mum's started saying she wants me to do that, too." _She thinks I need a proper job, even though I told her_ you'll _buy my art even if no one else does_.

He pictures his latest cartoon—Leah making a rude hand gesture at the full moon—and I have to laugh, even though what he _said_ wasn't exactly funny.

"You've got the brains for college," I point out.

" _No_ ," he says firmly. "You're on _my_ side."

"You could study art…"

He snorts. "You think Mum would be happy with that?"

"I could help you convince her."

"Thanks, but no." _I'm not planning for college—I might change my mind when the time comes, but I don't want to think about it yet_.

I nod, and Seth turns to the food. He jogs over to the table, grabs a hunk of rocky road, and shoves it into his mouth as he makes his way back to us.

"We're not savages here," I tease. "Shall I get you a plate?"

He sticks his chocolate-and-candy-covered tongue out, then grins as he nods.

Bella chuckles and Alice actually cracks a smile. While I fill a plate according to his wishes, Alice asks him what _he_ wants to do after he finishes school.

"I don't know," he answers, "and I'm okay with that."

She smiles; even though she sees the future, and is thus rarely surprised, she respects his willingness to let life happen.

After giving him the plate and a fork, I subtly encourage Bella to have something as well. Seth notices and considers teasing me—provoking me to eat something—but he's enjoying his own food too much. He has a point, though: if _I_ eat something, Bella will. So I choose something that Bella had seemed to enjoy earlier, which is also something that I'm curious about—a stuffed date. (How can a shrivelled piece of leathery flesh be remotely pleasant?)

"Bella, would you like one, too?" I ask, as I put one of them onto a plate. Alice wrinkles her nose and Bella's eyes widen when I select another one along with a few other morsels.

Upon my return, Bella eyes the plate warily; but when I put one of the dates into my mouth, she picks up the other one. It is moister than I expected, but still one of the least appetising things I've ever eaten.

Seth grins and warns me that my distaste is clear.

"Clearly, I have simple tastes," I joke, making him laugh; Alice laughs, too, while Bella rolls her eyes.

Bella takes the plate and chews her way through the rest of the food, eating more quickly than usual; perhaps her appetite has returned. I smile and she gives me a rueful smile in return. I put my arm around her and lean in close to whisper in her ear. "You're hungry—eat up. All these delicacies are here for you."

She gives me an unexpectedly impish smile. "There are plenty here for you, too," she whispers back.

I laugh—Seth would, too, if his mouth weren't full of sausage roll—and then I shift my lips to her neck and kiss her beneath the jaw, where her carotid artery pulses with her heart (which races at my touch), breathing in her refreshing, floral scent. It is hugely satisfying that the monster no longer reacts even to this heavenly temptation (my body, however, is another matter).

When Angela and Ben choose that moment to slip into the room, Bella flushes even deeper. I linger a moment more, for Ben's sake, and then stand up straight. Seth says hello to the two of them, and I casually slip his name into the conversation to spare Ben the scramble to remember, while encouraging them to have something to eat.

Bella refills her plate alongside Angela, while Alice and Seth make small talk. Alice compliments him on the bracelet and belt buckle he made for Bella and me, and then asks him what he's working on at the moment, so he expresses his newly formed idea of making a set of cufflinks for me to wear for the wedding. Alice can't help frowning at that; she can't see what they'll be like, which means she can't 'approve' them in advance. Seth picks up on her hesitancy and offers to liaise with her to ensure they match 'her' theme, so she happily bestows her consent.

"I'll draw up a few designs and then start on the prototype next month," he promises; "after the trip."

I glance at Alice, whose expression turns murderous for half a second as she recalls our little spending spree at Newton's Outfitters and puts two and two together. Seth notices, too, and gives her a rueful smile while I do my best to explain. It doesn't help that I have to speak aloud because she can't see our future conversation, so I speak at human pace to keep Seth involved (after all, it's my fault Alice didn't already know about it).

While I talk, Seth thinks about our potential companions. Paul has convinced Rachel to give it a try for a few nights, while Jared and Kim are still deciding. Embry and Quil (Jnr) are staying in La Push with Jacob, who is furious about the trip, but Sam and Emily are considering walking the first day with us and then heading home before dark (Emily's suggestion, which horrifies Sam because she is picturing riding home on wolfback).

Bella fills her little plate quickly before following Angela and Ben back into our circle. She tells Alice that she is really looking forward to it and very sorry she can't come with us. Alice sighs heavily, but puts an arm around her to show she's forgiven (although she plans to tradeoff this trip with unilateral control over our bachelor/bachelorette parties—I knew it was coming, so I try not to feel nervous).

"Bella and I are going camping with Seth and some friends from La Push at the end of the month," I tell Angela and Ben. I wish I could halt Angela's immediate curiosity as to Jacob's involvement, but Seth is quick to jump in with details about the new gear we've bought. While he describes the expensive, collapsible chiller bag for their food, I ponder the idea of strategically damaging a couple of the big-ticket items so I can recoup some of the profits we gave the undeserving Newtons.

His focus on things that Alice doesn't need is clever; it means she doesn't have to listen to descriptions of the amazing places we'll be going without her. And she can't help liking him, even though he ruins her vision—before long, she actually starts enjoying the mystery. She finds it particularly enjoyable watching Lauren's humiliation play out as she had foreseen earlier because Seth's presence provides a surprising bonus. Instead of Alice having to step in to knock the ladle out of Lauren's hand as she is pouring some more punch into Tyler's empty glass, Lauren actually drops it herself due to the flustered state Seth's teasing puts her in.

The ladle smashes against the glass, chipping it and knocking it out of Tyler's hand, and sending punch _everywhere_. Tyler is horrified by the ugly orange blotches all over his white, limited-edition sneakers. Lauren is mortified, and she even flashes her knickers—a risqué lace thong—to half a dozen of the sniggering onlookers in her rush to retrieve the ladle and the glass. I take full advantage of the opportunity to regard her with scorn, and all she can think about is that she never wants to see me again. Hallelujah!

Spattered with punch as she is, Lauren is, unsurprisingly, the first to leave (she barely lingers long enough to tell her passengers they'll need alternative transport if they stay). Tyler is next, after Esme has helped him to clean the punch off his precious shoes.

Alice consolidates the remaining guests by changing up the music, and then she pulls Seth onto the dancefloor. His ability to learn and adapt his style, combined with his superhuman endurance, means the two of them get along fantastically.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven: Artist**

The party winds up around midnight, as the lack of sleep and exotic nightclub atmosphere refresh their nerves in our company. On her way out, Jessica makes a point of congratulating us again and prattling on about what a great time she had tonight and how much she'll miss us, but Bella seems more pleased than irritated by the girl's shallow compliments, so I do my best not to look bored. Seth is, of course, the last to leave. He offers to help clean up before he goes, but Esme and Carlisle assure him they've got it covered and then drag Alice away (under the pretence of dealing with all the leftover food), so that we three can have a moment alone.

Bella doesn't miss the true purpose of their polite departure, and after a moment, Seth picks up on her nerves.

"I'll do my very best not to think about it," he offers.

She sighs and then shakes her head. "You don't have to," she replies. "I'll call Jake in the morning."

He smiles sympathetically, conscious of her distress, and says, "I don't mind telling him."

She manages half a smile. "That would be cowardly."

"No, it would be _wise_ ," he replies, trying to joke. But he can't help grimacing as he pictures Jacob's likely reaction. "It's probably best you let someone else break the news."

Bella grimaces, too, then nods slowly. _Break_ is an apt descriptor.

"Everyone else will be happy for you," Seth says, exaggerating ever so slightly in an attempt to end tonight's visit on a more cheerful note. " _I'm_ happy for you."

"Thanks, Seth," she mumbles, accepting a hug.

"Driving lesson tomorrow?" he asks, wondering if our usual schedule will change now that we're done with school.

Bella and I both nod. "Call as early as you like," I say, "or just come over."

Alice hears him wishing us goodnight and takes that as her cue to join us. She races downstairs, deliberately trying to unnerve him (because she expects me to rescue Bella if he can't hold his form) in a friendly sort of contest; but, although he is a little startled, he isn't the least bit afraid. He gives her a grin and she grins back, pleased that he trusts me so completely. (If she has to share me with another, at least he is "deserving".) I walk outside with him to take back the clothes, then say goodbye (and thank you) as he phases and dashes off into the forest.

Sam is in wolf form now, too, so he hears our news and offers his congratulations while I'm still privy to Seth's thoughts. He isn't surprised, but takes the sudden announcement to mean that Bella is planning to 'join our family' sooner rather than later. Seth counters the short timeframe, but Sam thinks Bella is more eager than ever to become like me so they agree to disagree and then focus on the immediate problem—how to tell Jacob. I'm relieved when Sam assumes the responsibility from Seth; Jacob won't punch his alpha (and if he does, he'll get the drubbing he deserves).

Inside, Alice delays raising the topic of Bella's bachelorette party in favour of one that Bella will enjoy.

"I can see why you like him," she teases me. "He's the laid-back version of _you_."

While Bella bursts out laughing, I take a second to ponder Alice's observation, but it makes little sense to me. "What does that even _mean_?"

"Bella gets it," Alice answers smugly.

I roll my eyes; Bella's laughter doesn't confirm anything. Her impish grin, however, is another matter.

"He's the Bingley to your Darcy," she jokes—and this time, it is Alice who cracks up.

" _Please_ ," I scoff, which only makes them laugh harder. "Bingley's a simpleton."

 _Technically, compared to_ you _, isn't Seth a simpleton?_ , Alice jokes, somewhat missing the point (that Seth is wise enough to compete with my vampire-given brainpower). "The comparison still applies," she insists. "The two of you don't exactly _look_ like you'd get along."

"And everything else fits," Bella adds. "Bingley's nature is just like Seth's."

"Perhaps," I concede. "Shall we offer Seth the opportunity to comment?"

"You think he'd be interested in reading _Pride and Prejudice_?" she teases.

"Just the Bingley-related parts."

"We could watch the BBC mini-series," she enthuses, apparently in earnest, though I think Seth would be much less interested in six hours of a period drama than a few chapters of a novel.

" _Again?_ " I joke, while Alice nods, putting on a comically phoney serious expression to show what she thinks of the crazy idea.

Bella nudges her shoulder. "We're overdue for movie night, aren't we?"

"Not _tonight_ ," Alice replies, before exhorting us to take full advantage of an empty house and then heading off to rendezvous with Jasper in the forest.

Bella looks around quizzically, as though waiting for Carlisle and Esme to appear.

"They said to wish you goodnight," I murmur, letting her know that they're already gone.

She smiles at that, and then takes my hand and leads me towards the stairs.

"I'm glad Alice and Seth have hit it off so well," she remarks. "And she didn't once mention the _doggy smell_."

"You can thank the smelly human food for that."

That makes her laugh, so I pause at the doorway to my bedroom. I want this moment to be special. I stop her for a kiss and then sweep her into the room with a little pomp, by way of forewarning.

Alice's 12-week-old vision plays out in front of me as Bella marvels at my drawing for a moment before saying, "How does _this_ fit with trying not to show off?"

I grin. "This is the first time I've tried it."

She purses her lips, apparently torn between laughing and scoffing at my apparent talent in everything I try.

"This wasn't my first attempt, though," I admit. "It was _very_ difficult."

She _hmmms_ , unconvinced. "How long did it take?"

"This one took three hours and forty-eight minutes, but it took almost thirty-six hours to get to this one."

Her eyes widen. "Forty hours?" When I nod, she looks back at the portrait with what I hope is a fresh appreciation of the effort it represents.

"Worth it?" I murmur.

She stares at the drawing for another moment before turning back to me. " _Definitely_ ," she says, smiling. "You made me and my battered old truck look beautiful."

"You _are_ beautiful."

"The truck, too?" she teases.

"Your reflected beauty is more than enough." But I can't deny feeling an odd sort of fondness for the rowdy thing (especially in this silent form). "I found the beauty in it when it led me to you, and somehow managed to express it on paper."

"How many times did you have to start again?"

"I didn't exactly keep count, but I used seven hundred and two sheets of paper."

She whistles softly. "Because you kept tearing it?"

"Gouging, mainly."

She is serious for a moment, scrutinising the drawing—no doubt searching for any overly deep strokes—then smiles. "You've got the hang of it now," she announces, so I take that to mean she doesn't see anything out of place. "Will you draw me something else?"

"What would you like?"

She ponders the question briefly, then strokes my cheek. "You, in the meadow—standing in the sun."

"I don't think I could draw that," I reply, unsure how to capture the unique sparkling effect with any type of colouring material, let alone a coloured pencil.

She smiles understandingly. "No, I suppose not. No direct sun then, just you. And I'd like to watch."

"Of course," I agree, welcoming the opportunity to extend my practice—despite the distasteful idea of failing in front of her—because Bella will be there to 'distract' me in the real situation, too.

Which reminds me just how different making love to her will be. My quiet confidence gives way to fresh nerves.

I count out the days in my head. _Sixty-four to go_ , I tell myself firmly. _I still have time_.

Seeing my achievement with pencils, however, seems to give Bella greater confidence, for she is more eager than usual when we stretch out on the bed together. While we kiss, she unbuttons my waistcoat, then my shirt—and then my belt.

When I go to stop her, she just pushes my hand away. I try to insist that she needs to sleep, but she rejects that reasoning.

"That was true _before_ graduation," she says decisively, and I have no counter argument.

In any case, she captures my lips once more and I can't help agreeing that this is a much more productive use of my mouth. She takes my responsiveness as encouragement to be even more daring, darting out her tongue to lick my upper lip. I want to return the action, but I can't risk cutting her fragile skin on my sharp teeth. I settle for shifting my lips to her neck, where I can be more adventurous with my mouth.

She moans and immediately buries the fingers of one hand into my hair as she presses herself against me. Alongside the pleasure, I worry that she might bruise her delicate skin against my lips—but none of that distracts me from what her other hand is doing.

After undoing my belt, she starts undoing the buttons on my pants. I've never let it get this far before. Her eagerness to take all she can from my mouth makes her fingers fumble constantly, and they pause often—whenever our kiss or my caress claims her full attention—but she is obviously trying to go as quickly as she can. As if she thinks she can slip one past me.

I can't help smiling a little, using the amusement to help fight off my body's reaction to her thrilling caresses. But then I realise that revealing my arousal might actually be the answer to curbing her lust before we go too far—not that I know what that means anymore. Too far physically, or too far sexually?

I'm taking a gamble, and maybe my judgement is off (who am I kidding? My judgement is _definitely_ off), but I feel completely in control of myself and I trust Bella to stop before risking our virginities, even if she doesn't appreciate the physical risk. (If _my_ limit is now greater than _hers_ , how much danger are we in?)

As she undoes the final button, I groan into her mouth. "Now what?" I murmur.

The question makes her hesitate. I wonder if she heard the unintended note of surrender in my voice or if she has only just realised how far she's got.

Then she suddenly presses her hand against the front of my exposed underpants. My hips twitch into the contact, and she grows in confidence, sliding her hand up and down my length. It feels amazing. I didn't think I could want her more than I already did, but suddenly, the desire to shed the last of my clothing and hers, and claim her right here, right now, fills every cell of my body with a burning need—except it's like being filled with pure energy, not fire.

As I fight to regain the ability to think, my whole body _aches_ for her. Only Emmett's favourite dirty words can truly capture how I feel right now, but I do my best to set aside those thoughts and focus on containing the passions raging inside me. Except Bella feels my heightened lust and responds in kind, aligning our bodies and grinding against me.

If I could think, I might be surprised by her wantonness; as it is, all I know is that I want more. Her little, breathless gasps and moans make me want to steal her breath with kisses, but I cling to the one remaining thought in my head—she is human—and let her lead.

We are both panting hard when I finally force myself to move, putting a bit of space between us so that Bella can recover her breath before her pulse tops 190. She rests for three seconds before her hand finds my thigh and then slides its way upwards.

I can't help groaning as she strokes my thigh—and then my erection—through the irritatingly thick barrier of my clothing; so I distract myself by returning the thrilling caress. I don't dare reach between _her_ thighs—the scent of her arousal is already too much to bear—so I slide my hand up the inside of her shirt and cup her pert breast. Her lacy bra is so thin, it is almost as though I'm touching her naked skin. She gasps at my icy touch, then moans into my mouth. I stroke my fingertips across her stiffening nipple, before shifting my hand back to her hip.

"Don't stop," she groans, tightening her grip.

"It won't be much fun when your teeth start chattering," I murmur, somehow managing to form a coherent sentence.

Her body gives a slight shudder, as though I've reminded her that she's already cold, but she shakes her head. "Touch me," she begs—and I can't refuse her, because no matter how close I feel to spontaneously combusting, the only thing she's in danger of right now is hypothermia.

I compromise by sliding my hand up her stomach and caressing her breast through the shirt. She hums happily enough, appeased, and I go back to telling myself why I can't lose control. The urge to wrap my lips around one of her peaked nipples flashes through my head, but I push it away. Before I attempt that, if I ever attempt that while she is still human, I must be absolutely sure that she won't move a muscle beneath me—not even to breathe.

We caress each other until she shivers again, and then I wrap her in the blanket. I expect her to settle down to sleep now, but she is still just as eager and I can't deny her bright eyes or her insistent, smiling lips—or her hand's pleasing touch.

It is well after 3 a.m. before she finally drapes herself across me to sleep, after swapping her clothes—including that lacy bra, which I only now realise is a massive departure from the functional kind she wears—for comfy pyjamas. We settle into our usual embrace, though there is nothing typical about the lust zinging through me. The thought of lying here beneath her for the next eight hours is agonising in my current state—but there is nowhere else I'd rather be.

After she falls asleep, I chuckle to myself at this sweet torture.

I'm still struggling to regain the ability for rational thought when she suddenly exclaims, "I'm not wearing that."

The objection throws me; to whom is she speaking in her dream? Me? Alice? Someone else? The fact that she's already lucid enough, even subconsciously, to dream about something other than making love to me—when making love to her is still all _I_ can think about—reminds me just how different our experiences are. Unlike my inexhaustible body, hers _has_ to process its passions quickly; its finite energy is too easily spent.

While I'm slowly working through this realisation, she adds, "Edward doesn't care what I wear."

 _Alice_ , I decide. Then I wonder if she's dreaming about the lingerie she'll be wearing beneath her wedding dress. Perhaps a corset… or another lacy bra… and a matching pair of lace panties…

 _No, Edward_ , I tell myself firmly, _no panties_. That lacy bra is more than enough to twist my thoughts into knots without picturing _that_.

Thanks to our late night, Bella sleeps late into the morning (but my whole family is being surprisingly accommodating, so we still have the house to ourselves). While she's picking through the leftover food to find something edible for breakfast (though it's closer to lunchtime), I offer her the choice of what we do today. She wastes no time requesting an art class.

As soon as she's eaten, we go back upstairs. I retrieve the remaining paper and coloured pencils while Bella takes her drawing off the easel—except it's heavier than she expected, so I have to catch it before she drops it.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

"I can do that," I reply, setting the frame on the bed and the pad of paper on the easel.

"Just because you _can_ doesn't mean you _need_ to," she mutters.

"I know," I assure her, smiling the smile that makes her heart dance.

She can't help smiling back, and then she is distracted by our purpose. "Draw you so it matches the one of me," she says suddenly. "You with the Volvo, or the Vanquish—although the meadow isn't the right background for that."

I love the idea, though I'm not sure that I can draw myself in the same light that I drew Bella.

"I could draw me and the Vanquish in front of this house?"

Her eyes light up. "Yes!"

I drew Bella slightly off centre so that I could imagine stepping into the scene with her, so I compose this drawing with me off to the other side to give Bella a place in this scene, too.

Then I orient my car so that it is facing the truck, and I position myself between the car door and back window. It takes a moment to decide what clothes to dress myself in, and at first I merely consider ones that match Bella's (and look good against the car), but then I decide on the clothes I was wearing when I rescued Bella in Port Angeles—seeing Bella in my jacket had given me such a thrill.

"Maybe I should draw the Volvo," I muse, undecided.

"The Vanquish is your favourite," she points out.

"But we've had so many special moments in the Volvo."

"Every moment with you is a special moment."

I touch my lips against hers. "And with you," I agree.

She smiles. "I prefer the look of the Vanquish."

"The Vanquish it is, then."

I take a deep breath, then pick up my least brittle pencil, a 4B graphite; I begin with the car, so that the drawing will take shape more quickly. The first line I draw is the sweep of the bonnet and then I add the windscreen wiper, going ridiculously slowly to avoid making a mistake in front of Bella.

She watches my cautiousness with obvious amazement, but doesn't remark on it. I can't help hoping that my blatant lack of confidence will highlight the danger of her request where words have failed. So I definitely won't attempt the showy (and risky!) move of drawing with both hands at some time.

The car takes seven minutes to sketch out. I make a few mistakes in the angles and have to adjust the lines, but at least I manage not to gouge the paper or snap the lead.

"Wow," Bella murmurs when I stand back to decide if it looks how I want it to.

"It's just a sketch," I say. "I'll mark out the scene, then redo it all once I'm happy with the composition."

She chuckles. "Your _sketch_ is a million times better than my _final_ version."

"So art's not your thing," I say with a light shrug.

She quirks a brow. "Are you claiming that this is innate drawing talent?"

I can't help grinning. "I seem to have a good deal of talent in a range of things, so that seems the most likely answer."

She rolls her eyes. "Keep _sketching_ , show-off."

"Yes, ma'am."

I draw myself next. Unlike the car, I have no idea how to position myself, so I end up marking out my body as a series of rough boxes. The ratios fit my body's proportions, so I can test how it will look against the car if I draw my hand or elbow resting against the car window, but otherwise I leave out the detail.

"Did you do this for mine?" she asks curiously.

"No, I didn't need to—Alice showed me what it would look like, so I just drew that."

She chuckles. "Like _colour by numbers_."

I laugh with her. "Yes, exactly."

The next thing I start on is the house. I choose an angle that will enable me to include the garage in the scene, then outline the sweep of the driveway for that viewpoint.

Suddenly, I realise that Bella's drawing is much more colourful than mine can ever be. Her car is red and mine black, her background is vivid greens and browns and mine predominately black and grey and white, and her skin is peachy and mine pallid. I am fully in control of the end result, yet this drawing feels inexorably destined to look dark and depressing in contrast to Bella's bright and lifeful portrait.

She notices my hesitation and touches my arm. "What is it?"

When I meet her warm, concerned eyes, I find myself blurting out the unedited truth. "I don't know how to make it like yours."

"Like mine how?"

"Colourful. Happy."

She pulls the pencil out of my hand and pushes me towards the bed. I obediently sit down, beside her drawing, while she sits in my lap. She gives me a kiss, then points to herself in the drawing. "Draw yourself first," she suggests, "and draw the you that fits _this_ picture." She points at the space beside the Bella in the drawing.

I press a kiss to her cheek. "That's how I imagined it," I say.

"Good."

I stare at the drawing, trying to picture myself in it in sufficient detail for the other drawing. It is incredibly helpful. "You're a genius," I whisper into her ear.

"I know," she jokes.

I look back at the sketch. "Do you like the composition?"

"Yes. Although you and the car could be bigger."

"I scaled everything to your picture, so the Vanquish and I are the right size compared to you and the truck."

She glances between her drawing and the sketch. "Maybe the house makes you look smaller."

"I'll draw it further back from the car."

She nods. "And don't draw yourself leaning on the car. Stand up straight—the way you usually stand."

I smile. "Good point. I didn't draw you leaning on the truck."

She doesn't really seem to be paying attention to me; I can see her brain working. Then she says, "Could you draw it sepia-toned?"

I quirk an eyebrow by way of requesting an explanation.

"You're worried about the contrast with all the black and white versus my drawing, so why not go with it? You _are_ the right era for it, after all," she adds teasingly.

I consider that for a moment. "I'm not sure it would work—the colouring will be too different."

"But if you could keep the same _style_ and just use sepia tones instead of colours…?"

"I can always _try_ it," I agree. "Although I'm going to need a better colour palate," I add, eyeing the limited colours in my pencil pack.

I'm not the least bit surprised when my phone suddenly rings.

" _I just bought you more pencils!_ " Alice gushes.

"Thanks, Alice," I say, chuckling, before passing on the news to Bella.

"Does she see it working?" she asks eagerly.

" _Yes_ ," Alice answers before Bella has even finished speaking. " _Tell Bella it's a brilliant idea. But you have to make sure you finish this drawing before the wedding, so Carlisle and Esme can enjoy both drawings while you're on your_ honeymoon _._ "

"That shouldn't be a problem," I reply, given how keen Bella seems to be to watch me draw (and trying to ignore the teasing, sing-song way Alice said _honeymoon_ ).

" _Jasper will be there with the pencils in sixteen minutes—keep designing so you can start drawing straight away_."

"Yes, boss," I quip as she hangs up on me.

Bella is inordinately excited to hear that Jasper is on his way with pencils, but Jasper's enthusiasm catches me even more off guard. He arrives with an entire briefcase full of pencils—three sets of 150 different colours, one set of 12 graphite pencils, six colourless blending pencils, and six sets of 42 bespoke colours that Alice arranged for the craftsman to make—and then asks to watch me, too.

I had thought he was purely amused by my attempts to ease my pre-wedding-night nerves, but he is genuinely interested in the artwork. He even analyses my sketch and suggests a few details that will enhance the drawing immensely—adding Esme's favourite flowers (lily of the valley) as a border along the driveway; setting it at night, so that the (full) moon and stars light the scene, interspersed with a patchy, romanticised version of Washington's ever-present cloud cover that adds a dynamic feel to the static image; and drawing myself with my arms folded and my head at a jaunty angle, the way racing car drivers often pose beside their cars. Bella especially loves the last idea—because she often quips that I drive like I'm in a race—so all in all, I feel much more confident when I officially start to draw.

The drawing quickly takes shape. The new pencils are waxier than the originals, so they're softer and therefore much easier to draw with. I'm not surprised that Alice apparently chose the most brittle of the professional pencils for me when I was practising, but I can't help feeling cheated. It had been incredibly demoralising to fail so repeatedly. And yet, I am also grateful that these pencils are easier to work with, given my audience.

We pause only for human food breaks, so the drawing is actually completed by 2:30 p.m. Jasper is just as impressed as Bella, and I'm pleased at how confident it looks—enough to match the spirit of Bella's—though I can't help feeling that the sepia tones actually made this drawing easier. Esme gushes over it when she arrives home, and it doesn't take long for her to request one of the whole family. So I find myself with an audience of three, which becomes four when Seth arrives. (What have I got myself into?!)

My artistic friend is happy to forgo his driving lesson, but he changes his mind when I suggest driving to an art supplies store. I finish the sketch for my third-ever drawing before we leave, promising Esme she can specify any changes she likes. The art store has all the paints we need for the portrait of Sue's horse, all the brushes we could ever want, and cans of spray paint for Seth's bedroom. It's still relatively early, so we head over to the Clearwaters', leaving the portrait-related supplies hidden in the trunk, to start on Seth's mural. When he speculates aloud on what would happen if I drank paint, even Leah enjoys the joke. (Despite Seth's idea of my insides being permanently stained green, I'm sure it wouldn't set inside me—and even if it did, the venom in my body would soon break it down.)

The next day, Bella and I take a complete break from art. In the morning, we meet with Angela's father about ministering our wedding. Mr Weber is a kind man, and he won't agree to marry us unless he believes absolutely in the commitment we have for each other. He agreed to meet with us at his daughter's request, and because he believes in second chances, but he still thinks me cowardly because of what I did to Bella. Angela is aware of his disapproval of me and she hopes I can convince him to marry us, but alongside that, she can't help thinking about the bizarre story Ben told her yesterday (thankfully without implicating Bella)—that I originally expressed an interest in _her_. Her conclusion that I must have done it deliberately for some unknown and bemusing reason tempts me to confirm it and spare her the bafflement, but I can't quite decide on a way to suddenly broach the subject or how to justify the act, so I say nothing for the time being.

After asking a few general questions of us, Mr Weber suggests that Angela show Bella her mother's bridal veil—a beautiful piece of lace made by her great-great-grandmother—so that he can give me a private lecture on what it means to be a husband. I listen dutifully, accepting my punishment; even if I didn't think I deserved it, I would appreciate his discretion. I answer his questions carefully, saying everything he needs to hear in order to set his mind at ease (which is easy, because I mean every word).

Then, when Bella and Angela return, he explains his celebrant style and asks a couple of questions to get a better understanding of what we want out of the day. Bella and I both want a short, simple ceremony without any personalisation (because our individual and combined histories are fraught with secrets that spoil the public version of our love story), so the conversation is short and sweet, and Mr Weber wraps it up neatly by agreeing to marry us.

With that last element in place, Alice allows us a break from her endless wedding questions so we can finish arranging Seth's camping trip. Bella goes from reluctant to amusingly enthusiastic when she realises it will hide her from Forks's nosy townsfolk for a week, and I am almost as pleased to get away from my family now that Emmett and Jasper have become far too willing to share all sorts of gruesome stories with her (although I am grateful to Emmett for sharing his experience of the transformation, because no matter how much I appreciate that _forewarned is forearmed_ , I couldn't discuss it with her myself). As the days pass, I also begin to look forward to a break from the frustrated state that Bella's amorousness leaves me in every night—she can't be so bold in a tent!

The weekend before the trip is Billy's birthday, and it's a relief when he invites me to dinner along with Bella and Charlie, because it will be the first time that Bella has seen Jacob since graduation, and the first time she's been near him since he kissed her. Sue, the pack, and their mates are already there when we arrive; Leah is the only absentee (she is still struggling with being around Sam, and Emily—especially now that she knows, in graphic detail, how Emily obtained her injuries).

Jacob launches into an apology the moment Bella steps out of the car. While owning up to his bad behaviour, he also makes a point of recalling memories designed to show me that every single minute I stayed away was a worse mistake than his impromptu stolen kiss, especially since I've come back to kill her anyway.

"You promise you'll behave yourself?" Bella asks him, not letting him off straight away.

"I'll certainly _try_ ," he promises, offering up a little joke; but he means it (because he doesn't consider harassing me with his thoughts 'misbehaving'), and she must see his sincerity, for she actually smiles.

I'm relieved when she sticks close to me, because that's the only reason he decides not to push his luck by seeking a hug. He knows it's more than his life's worth to come within arm's reach. I like his awareness that the majority of his pack will side with _me_ —only Quil and Embry will object if I attack him (not that Sam would let it get that far). He does his best not to look at the engagement ring on Bella's finger, but Emily makes a point of asking how the wedding planning is going, so he can't pretend it's not happening.

While Bella regales Emily and the others with a few of Alice's craziest ideas, Jacob initially splits his concentration between enjoying Bella's presence and finding new memories to torture me with. It doesn't take him long, however, to reckon that his feelings for Bella cause me almost as much displeasure, so he cheerfully gives Bella his full attention. Her beautiful eyes, her beautiful smile, her elegant neck, her shapely form… and her breasts, though he is careful not to get caught staring (so he can deny it if I tell Bella he's leering at her).

I do my best to ignore him, though, and his thoughts soon wander. He can't help being happy to see her happy again, no matter how much it pains him that she's happy with _me_. He thinks he could have accepted it if she had chosen someone else _human_ —that is her right—but he can't stand the thought of her becoming like me. His thought's echo Rosalie's, except his focus is on her soul rather than her fertility.

He pictures her skin ice cold, rock hard; her eyes black and empty. Then he realises that there's an even worse fate threatening: I could kill her dead when I try to change her—as if I'll drink a single drop of her blood when I change her. The horror of his imagined visions makes me want to punch him into unconsciousness. Repeatedly.

As we all take a seat at the table, Jacob reminds himself that he wants to be her friend for however long she has left, even if he can't make her see how much _he_ thinks he means to her, and even if spending time with her means having to put up with my presence. Watching Seth joke with me still irritates him—he holds Seth responsible for his pack's acceptance of me—but, for the first time, he manages his temper without resorting to vindictive thoughts. He can't stop the pain of not being with her (I wish he didn't love her; it would make it easier to feel justified in hating him), but he wants to shed as much negativity as possible, in the hope that he might heal. Because no one, not even Jacob, is in any doubt of Bella's choice.

It seems ridiculous now that I ever worried about the human boy swooping in and stealing my girl. Bella is happier than anyone has ever seen. Her high spirits are clearly in response to reconciling with Jacob, but she is also less reserved than usual in such a large gathering, even one with so many friends, which means she is so much more open in showing her feelings for me.

And her happiness gets more apparent every day. Bella has always been beautiful, but now she is _radiant_. Everyone sees it, the evident self-assurance, the glow of certainty. She thinks everyone stares because we're getting married, but they stare because they are finally seeing her properly. (I might have tried to explain, but their accompanying thoughts make me unwilling to share: they think pregnancy becomes her and that she'll be a wonderful mother, despite her relative youth and her own "scatter-brained" mother.)

The way she regularly glances at her ring with obvious pleasure proves that she has well and truly come around to the idea of marrying me, even before she agrees to having a bachelorette party. I especially enjoy it when she raises that particular subject herself (apparently in an effort to secure some input into the event).

"I only have two _real_ girlfriends," she tells Alice firmly. "You and Angela. So why not have Edward and Ben come, too?"

"Because that's not a _bachelorette_ party," Alice replies patiently, not annoyed because she'd expected this proposal long before seeing it. "We're having a _girls_ -only evening, even if it _is_ just the three of us."

After Alice shares her visions of the evening with me, I'm not surprised when she expects me to do the legwork convincing Bella that it will be a fun night. I would have been only too happy to help if Alice hadn't picked _archery_ for the evening's entertainment. I try to delay naming the main activity, but Bella picks up on my evasiveness and forces the whole story out of me. She is naturally horrified by the thought of a bow and arrow under her control, but Alice goes ahead with it anyway, arranging it with Angela and a Seattle archery club.

Bella isn't allowed to know about it ahead of time, but Alice does make one concession—for both of us. She books a hotel suite with three adjoining rooms so that I can join Bella there (without Angela's knowledge), in return for collecting our wedding rings before I start following them through Seattle.

Once that day is settled, our wedding day feels so much closer. It doesn't help my nerves that Renée has started calling Esme daily to discuss every little detail, often several times over before she feels comfortable with it. But Esme enjoys it just as much as Renée seems to, and Bella is happy that our mothers are growing closer, and even happier that the wedding preparations are mostly progressing without us now (because Alice has basically wrung every possible opinion out of us on every possible option).

My birthday becomes a mini, pre-camping-trip oasis in the developing wedding storm. It falls on a Tuesday, but I insist on upholding our usual Tuesday schedule of driving lesson followed by dinner. Then, instead of dropping Seth off in La Push, we all go home to celebrate with the rest of my family.

Alice takes advantage of human taste buds to commission a massive chocolate cake in the shape of my grand piano, and Emmett regales Seth and Bella with several stories about my "boringness" (I can only hope he doesn't use any of this material in his wedding speech). Even Esme joins in, though she soon changes the focus from my conservative nature to my generosity in bestowing my time (and unique skillset) to their various pet projects over the years, which makes me sound terrific. And then Carlisle shares a few examples of the "many" moments in which my expertise has helped him save lives, which makes me feel eminently capable—heroic, even—especially in light of the awe in Bella's and Seth's eyes.

It's the best birthday I've ever had.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight: Marvel**

The morning of the trip dawns bright and calm, but the usual layer of cloud soon cloaks the sky. Bella seems as excited as I am, which pleases me immensely… but also makes me wish fervently that Jacob weren't joining us today. In the hope of keeping her close, I make various little jokes about being on hand to serve her every need, and she is kind enough to play along.

As we approach the juncture of the Quillayute and Dickey Rivers, our rendezvous point, I listen to the thoughts of our fellow hikers assembling there. Jacob and his best friends, Embry and Quil, were the first to arrive thanks to Jacob's eagerness to see Bella, so the confirmation in their thoughts that they're only joining us for the day is extremely welcome news.

Following Seth's instructions, I pull into the tiny clearing that will serve as my car park for the week. After the majority of us exchange the usual greetings (offset by Jacob's pointed delight at seeing Bella and tacit disapproval of my presence), I start unloading the car. Before leaving Bella's side, I give Jacob a warning glare. He glares back, but knows not to approach—though he warns me that if Bella approaches _him_ , he won't move away. Seth snags his camp stretcher and stows it in his pack (he is sleeping in a room in our tent, so he only has a few clothes and some food, in the ridiculously expensive cooler bag I purchased for him), while I tie the three-burner stove and Bella's bed to the tent bag I'll be carrying (which also contains my spare clothes and cooking gear for the six humans).

The solitary stretcher stokes Emily's curiosity. "You really don't need to sleep?" she asks, wondering what being conscious 24/7 would be like.

I nod. "I _can't_. But it feels normal—I don't remember what it feels like to sleep."

Bella eyes me enquiringly but doesn't say anything, and I wonder if she would ask whether watching her sleep over hundreds of nights has given me any insight into it if we weren't trying to avoid making our friends aware of our nightly trysts.

"Do you ever…?" Emily says, pausing as she struggles to put her question into words. Thanks to my gift, she doesn't have to.

"I used to envy humans for being able to sleep to escape the boredom, but that changed the moment I saw Bella."

The girl in question rolls her eyes. "Not the _moment_ you saw me," she challenges.

I smile, pleased that I can refute the objection (especially with Jacob mentally cursing me). "You have occupied my thoughts from the moment I saw you with my own eyes."

She blushes at my ardour, but there's something about the set of her mouth that makes me think she doesn't believe me. "The first time you looked at me, you looked utterly bored," she says, confirming my assessment.

"Because it was only _after_ I looked that I discovered how amazing you are."

"Only because you couldn't hear my thoughts," she points out, trying to strip away any inherent appeal she might have.

"Yes," I allow; "at first—but that was _my_ deficiency, not yours."

She makes a face at that, rejecting the notion outright.

"Ask Jared," I say. "He knows what I'm talking about."

Jared nods, smiling but serious. "Sure do."

Bella glances between Jared and Kim, who blushes and starts fiddling with the straps on her bag for something to do. I have no doubt Bella remembers what Jacob told her about Kim's crush on the initially oblivious Jared.

Missing the point that I will have already made the offer, Jacob tries to commandeer the conversation by offering to take Bella's small pack, which contains her clothes and some snacks. She insists on carrying it herself, and then we all laugh as Rachel shoves _her_ pack at him.

Sam and Jared set off first, clearing the way through the faint trail for Emily and Kim. Jacob wants to walk with Bella, but Seth shoves him into line ahead of him, and Embry and Quil encourage him to go with them (rather than start trouble before we've even gone anywhere), so he only grumbles halfheartedly. Bella reaches for my hand before taking a single step, and it pleases me immensely that she doesn't seem at all self-conscious about using me to steady herself.

After Rachel and Paul fall in behind us, Paul takes advantage of their position at the back to canoodle. He wants to help her relax (and indulge them both at the same time), but she is much too aware of my presence to acquiesce. When she giggles shyly, Bella automatically glances back; she smiles at her friend as she tries (semi-successfully) to tame her lover's amorousness, and then grins at me before leaning towards me, clearly seeking a kiss of her own.

I comply willingly, tempted to pull her into my arms so we don't have to stop when she feels the need to look where she's going. But her blush suggests that a quick kiss is all she'll stretch to in our present company, so I resist making the offer.

In any case, our brief kiss serves a secondary purpose of reassuring Rachel that I'm no different than usual, despite my paleness seeming so much more eerie in the half-dark of the forest. Up ahead, Emily is as untroubled as ever by my presence, but she can see that Kim is unsettled so she makes an effort to distract her. She only partially succeeds; to Kim, my inhumanness has never been so obvious. She can't help recalling the legend of the pale woman who almost wiped out the tribe, which makes her even more self-conscious because she knows I can hear her thinking about that massacre.

We reach the first waterfall after an hour, so we stop there for a break. While the others eat and drink, I scan the clearing, taking in the beautiful, moss-draped forms of the ancient trees, many of them decades older than me.

And then the sun bursts out from behind the clouds and my skin lights up. I freeze, unsure whether to seek shade or stay where I am to minimise the light show. But after the initial shock, they are all surprisingly fascinated—as fascinated as Bella. Seth moves closer to study the effect, marvelling at the myriad colours shining off my skin. He grins at me and asks if my tongue sparkles, too.

While I stick out my tongue (which is as shiny as the rest of me), I struggle with the powerful emotions churning inside me. I've always viewed my skin's unnatural reflectiveness as a sign of the monster inside me—that _I_ am a monster. But that's not their impression at all. Even Kim and Jacob enjoy the strange sight. I dare to voice my opposing opinion to my shimmery skin, but it changes nothing.

Seth sees how moved I am by their acceptance and realises that it's a big deal for me. He throws an arm around my shoulder. "Maybe thinking you're a monster gave the monster more power. Now that you believe you aren't, the monster has no power."

The logic feels as strange as it does plausible. "I thought it helped me fight it," I murmur, "being constantly aware of it. I didn't consider that alternative…"

"I wouldn't go as far as _forgetting_ you're a vampire," Sam speaks up, thinking of his own struggle.

"That's not what I meant," Seth argues. "Just because he's a vampire doesn't automatically make him a monster."

"It _doesn't_?" Paul challenges; in his opinion, I make a conscious choice to resist my nature every second of my existence.

"There's a monster in all of us," Seth explains. "We all have to make a choice between living as best we can, in harmony with everyone and everything else in this world, and taking what we want, no matter the consequences." He pauses, then grins at Jacob. "Some of us have to make that choice daily."

Jacob shoots him the predictable glare, but Seth just keeps on grinning.

"What's _your_ monster, Seth?" Rachel teases, unable to believe that this cheerful, intelligent boy could have a single mean thought, let alone a dark side.

"My aversion to formal education," he jokes, making everyone (except Jacob) laugh; we all know he's referring to Sue's complaints about his cavalier attitude to schoolwork.

We start walking again after a few minutes, and the atmosphere feels tangibly different. Seeing me in the sun was a new experience for all of them (except Bella, of course), and they are exhilarated by it. Even Jacob keeps glancing back every time I walk through a ray of light, involuntarily intrigued by the effect (and surprised that he isn't inherently disgusted).

Emily can see that Kim has relaxed a little more, and she knows that the forest ecosystem fascinates her, so she encourages me to share my knowledge of the plants and organisms around us in the hope of easing the last of Kim's nerves. Emily's question about the effect of all the mosses on the trees quickly starts up a conversation with Kim and then the whole group. They each have a favourite plant or creature—the shape-shifters all naturally feel an affinity with the wolf, but Seth isn't the only one who loves climbing trees (although he's alone in his particular appreciation of the smell of pine needles). Emily likes squirrels and Kim is fond of river otters, while Rachel finds woodpeckers so fascinating that she knows almost as much about them as I do. Bella confesses to a preference for cacti, so I take us even further afield by expressing an interest in Venus flytraps (I probably should have said dragonflies, as few recognise them for the proficient predators they are, but none of my audience is surprised or overly unnerved by my contribution, and the girls all appreciate my honesty).

As the discussion evolves, Jacob makes a few well-timed jokes that make Bella laugh and smile and roll her eyes in an affectionate sort of way. His reaction to her attention incites my ire, but there's something about her renewed trust in him that stokes the old jealousy inside me. Perhaps because this is the first time I've seen their friendship in real life, and they clearly enjoy each other's company. It doesn't help that Jacob is just as good at reading Bella's thoughts through her eyes and her expressions as I am.

We don't stop again until lunchtime, when Sam and Jared lead us to a charming glade of western hemlock dotted with clusters of pretty yellow chanterelles. While everyone eats, Emily tries to convince Sam that they can walk a little further with us; if he carries her home on wolfback, they will be able to come all the way to the hot spring. But Sam still can't bear the thought of phasing around her, so he proposes an alternative—a piggyback ride. The girls all laugh at that, including Bella, who advises her to close her eyes if she gets motion sickness.

"Has Edward piggybacked you?" Rachel asks curiously, wondering how rough a ride it would be; she doesn't think she'd enjoy it, even though she loves riding wolfback (and, unlike Paul, she keeps her mind off their naked 'rides').

Bella nods. "He runs so fast, I thought I was going to die the first time," she says artlessly, "but when I close my eyes, it feels like we aren't moving at all."

Seth chuckles at her exaggeration, before suddenly wondering if I ran faster with Bella than with him. "How fast?" he asks me sharply.

"Yes," I admit, avoiding a numerical value. "But only because I didn't want you throwing up on me."

He pouts at that. "I wouldn't have."

"You didn't worry about _me_ throwing up," Bella teases.

"You hadn't just eaten half a deer," I tease back, trying to ignore Jacob's censure for not anticipating Bella's discomfort—which is a lot easier when Bella laughs heartily.

Jared thinks Sam needs to trust himself in wolf form around Emily if he's ever to forgive himself, so he decides it's the perfect moment to share a secret that, outside of Seth, Bella, and me, only he, Kim, and Sam know. "Seth's given Edward a wolfback ride," he says.

Jacob rolls his eyes, unsurprised, while the others laugh and Emily nudges Sam to imply that she's the only one missing out. He doesn't know what to say; it is harder for him than the others realise, because he's now the only one still struggling with his temper. Paul and Embry had both struggled initially, but imprinting on Rachel solved Paul's problems and Embry was sorted when his best friends joined him; and Leah's ongoing battle with emotional instability is aided by a coping strategy that Sam, as Alpha, can't employ (staying human whenever possible).

"It's a lot of fun," I say, hoping to encourage him.

Rachel nods. "Way better than riding a horse." She almost jokes about there being nothing better than riding a "sentient beast", but she can't think of a wording that doesn't sound sexual (and besides that, it reminds her of several vivid memories that she can't entirely block).

" _Please?_ " Emily begs. Then she opens up the neck of her t-shirt and leans forward. "I'm already wearing my bikini," she murmurs, drawing his eyes down her top.

He stares for a moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "All right."

Everyone smiles and the wolves all nod. The young ones (aside from Seth, whom I no longer think of as 'young') particularly want Sam to get past his guilt so they won't have to experience it anymore, but they all think their alpha deserves to be happy.

Emily isn't the only one wearing her swimsuit; Rachel has her bikini on, too, and Jared and Paul are wearing their swimming trunks. The other wolves are wearing shorts that will suffice, so Bella and Kim, who both have one-piece swimsuits, and I are the only ones who'll have to change first.

It's a two-hour walk to the hot spring, but everyone's a little sluggish at first after lunch so it takes a little longer. No one minds, though, because the scenery is breathtaking. I knew that some of the tallest trees in the world reside in this ancient forest, but seeing them with my own eyes is incredible. They're like entire worlds of their own, supporting countless species on their towering trunks and massive branches.

Bella is equally captivated. She leans back on me so she can look up at the distant canopy without suffering the effects of vertigo. The others have walked amongst these giants before, but they still share our sense of awe. Seth has always wanted to climb one, but when he was four, Sue astutely pointed out a fallen tree and said that another little boy had wanted to climb one, too, and the tree hadn't been able to support his extra weight so it fell down and died, along with many precious creatures, and he still can't get the imagined guilt out of his head. Although he knows his weight even now is insignificant compared to the weight of each branch, let alone the wet moss hanging off every inch of the trunk, his respect for the ancient trees means he values them more than his fun—and there are plenty of younger trees to climb. (I like the way he views it; that the 'young' trees don't mind the extra weight because they enjoy being climbed as much as he enjoys climbing them, while the older trees have long tired of such boisterousness.)

The trees are smaller around the hot spring, but as Bella and I explore the surrounding area, we come across a sizeable hollow tree that provides the perfect changing area. While Bella changes inside, I go behind it to swap my clothes for the brand-new swimming trunks Alice bought for me. (Despite the dozens of unnecessary pockets, I like them; the beige fabric is silky soft and they cover me from waist to knee.) Because they've all seen me in the sun already, I forgo the swim shirt.

When Bella is ready, Kim and Jared take over the hollow tree. As Bella and I head back to the pool, I compliment her on the pretty blue suit, which I know she chose herself. The thing I most appreciate about it is its ample coverage of her body, given Jacob's presence, but I don't mention that.

The pool is easily large enough for our party of 12. There are little jets of hot water bubbling up in a dozen spots that mean the temperate range is quite substantial; some parts are very warm, while other parts, where the flow is stronger, aren't much warmer than the rest of the river. Natural rocky outcrops and shallower sections provide a series of seats for everyone, but it takes a little swapping around for everyone to find a spot they're happy with. Jacob doesn't make it any easier by trying to sit beside Bella without having to sit beside _me_ , but we eventually figure it out after Bella sits in my lap and Seth sits in between us and Jacob.

The warm water soon warms my body, so I think that Bella, for once, has the most comfortable seat out of everyone. She certainly looks content enough to sit here forever, just as I am. The other couples are similarly at ease, but that gets on Jacob's nerves so he keeps spoiling the tranquillity by raising one trivial subject after another. Seth finally shuts him up, temporarily, by sharing some amusing stories about his mother's efforts to stop him doing things she considered dangerous (such as climbing huge trees).

Humans can't remain submerged in water indefinitely, though. After 40 minutes, they start getting out. The boys and I just shake off the water without bothering to change, although I also have to whip off my trunks and wring them dry. In contrast, the girls take turns getting dressed in the hollow tree.

When everyone is ready to leave, Sam and Emily say their goodbyes and then head back down the trail. Sam wants to be alone with Emily when he phases, so they're planning to walk a mile or so before they switch to wolfback.

Bella is clearly happy when Jacob announces that they'll come all the way to the campsite with us. Watching the two of them laugh and joke together, I dread what she'll say tonight in her sleep. I feel better after we start walking again; as before, she relies on me utterly and I'm glad I can provide the physical stability she needs—if only I had been as good at providing emotional stability. My only consolation is that Jacob is so emotionally immature that I still come out on top in that comparison (because the age difference that arguably excuses some of his immaturity is offset by my justifiable efforts to protect Bella from becoming a vampire).

Regardless, Jacob and I have both caused her so much pain. As I mull over Bella's responses to Jacob (seeing Rachel and Jacob together gives me hope that Bella feels like his big sister, too), I realise that the sense of weakness she feels when comparing herself to me needs remedying urgently. Emotionally, she is more than a match for me, but she is so acutely aware of the physical differences between us that they get in the way.

If only I could show her that we _are_ equal, because my strength is nothing without her wisdom. It is my failing that she doesn't already see it, but how can I be more proactive than I already am? If it would ease her desire to rush into the change, I must think of something… Maybe I can help her trust in her own strength when we're at college. Should I reconsider my choice of courses, to give her something of her own? But the true unknown is how to show her the preciousness of her fragile human body. My greatest fear is that she won't see it until it's too late, when she'll essentially have eternity to regret her haste.

It only takes half an hour to walk to the area Jared and Paul have sussed out for our campsite (not nearly long enough to ponder my conundrum); the distance is deliberate, so we can go back to the hot spring every day if we so choose. We arrive an hour before sunset, which gives us plenty of time to set up camp and then prepare dinner before dark. Jacob, Embry, and Quil say their goodbyes before we start unpacking (before anyone can ask them to help). Jacob makes sure to get a hug from Bella before he goes, but at least he keeps his thoughts off her body—if not off kissing her—while he holds her; then the three of them phase (which gives me a pleasant glimpse into Sam and Emily's merry party) and race off northward. Jacob wants to hunt (he'll imagine he's taking _me_ down), and his friends are more than willing to join him.

Seth reclaims my attention by offering to help me pitch our tent, so we work together at a steady pace. Despite the vast size of our five-room tent compared to the others' two-person tents, ours is the first to be completed.

Bella applauds our work, then helps me arrange all the gear inside, while Seth collects up all the food into its own room. He stacks it in neat piles according to each day (in an attempt to manage Paul's voracious appetite), because it's not as if we need to worry about wild animals entering _our_ camp.

Once everything is arranged to everyone's satisfaction, the conversation turns to our options for firewood. In Washington, it's a hassle to start a fire using dead forest wood, so Seth and Jared head off in search of wood that they hope will dry out enough after a night or two in one of our tent's spare rooms.

They return with armfuls of long branches that completely cover the floor; then, while they go back for another load, I stack the branches so that thinner ones are propping up the thicker ones (in a crisscross pattern) to help air circulation. Jared brings even thicker logs the second time, while Seth comes back with small branches that will be useful as kindling.

The group's next focus is dinner, so I start paying attention to the creatures nearby. It doesn't take long to locate a few grouse, so I dare to offer to provide for them.

"I think I can find some grouse, if you'd like that?"

Apart from Seth, who thinks it's a great idea (he wants to come with me, but I shake my head—I don't plan to hunt, just fetch—so he doesn't ask; he grins when I tip my head towards him when he thinks about next time), they are both intrigued and nervous. Even so, it only takes a few moments of glancing around at each other to accept. Seth promises not to let Bella out of his sight (in his thoughts, of course, otherwise Bella would have something to say about it), not realising that I don't intend to go beyond the range of my telepathy.

"Back in a minute," I say to them, grinning, and then I jog into the forest—the wolves hear it when I pick up the pace, but Rachel and Kim are pleasantly ignorant.

When I return in 27 seconds, carrying three large grouse, their eyes widen comically.

"I knew where they were when I made the offer," I explain.

"Did you drink their blood?" Paul asks.

I can't help rolling my eyes, but refrain from making a joke. "No."

"They've got red blood, don't they?" he asks, wondering how appealing it is to me… and how thirsty I am. He can't help shifting forwards a fraction to set himself between me and Rachel.

"I'm fine," I assure him before his worries can get out of hand. "And yes, they have red blood, but it smells… off. Metallic-y."

Bella screws up her nose at my description. "Doesn't _human_ blood smell metallic-y?"

The others (except Seth, as always) aren't sure about discussing what human blood smells like, so I keep my answer brief. "Not to me."

"When I said it smells like rust and salt, you were surprised."

"Because humans don't usually analyse the smell of blood in such detail—nor are they able to detect it in minute quantities."

She smiles at that; apparently, anything odd about her that makes her seem more like a vampire is welcome.

" _Minute?_ " Jared queries, his curiosity overcoming his slight nerves.

I decide to give them the full story, so I set the grouse on the 'table' (a flat rock Jared and Paul set in the centre of our little circle) and start plucking; I go faster than a human could, but not so fast as to distract them from the conversation. "Our Biology class did blood typing—Alice saw it in advance, so I just ditched the lesson, but Bella should have, too. The moment the first kid—" I'm tempted to say, _Mike Newton, the other guy who still thinks he's got a shot with Bella_ , but that would only remind them all of Jacob—"stuck his finger—"

Bella realises I'm going to give them all the gory details and hastily slaps her hand over my mouth, sending feathers flying in all directions. My hands are a little messy, so I don't want to touch her; I glance at Seth and he grins and pulls Bella's hand away from my face.

"Seth!" she complains, trying to dislodge his grip.

"I want to hear the story," he says, and she relents with an exasperated sigh.

"The moment he stuck his finger," I repeat, to make sure they follow what I'm saying (while Bella grumbles about my disrespectfulness), "Bella practically passed out and had to visit the school nurse.

"I was in my car in the parking lot when I saw her collapsed on the pavement with Mike Newton standing over her—for a moment, I honestly thought he'd killed her." I laugh to myself, remembering the illogical panic, but none of the others finds it amusing. Seth thinks I jumped to that conclusion because _I_ thought so much about killing her, and I realise he has a point; the others don't quite crystallise their unease to such an extent, but their thinking runs along similar lines.

"Anyway, I carried Bella to the nurse—much to Mike's annoyance," I can't help adding—"and then, while she was recovering, another boy came in. But this one actually fainted at the sight of his _own_ blood—" I would've made a comment about how much more normal that was than fainting at the smell of a pinprick of blood, but Bella is still glaring daggers at me—"so I told Bella to leave the room, and she actually listened and did as I asked for once."

"Never again," she mutters.

"And then she told me that she left the room because she'd smelled the blood—the tiny, insignificant drop of blood on his finger."

"Not _insignificant_ to you," Paul points out.

"Actually, it hardly bothered me—not with Bella in the room."

"You mock me now," Bella grumbles, "but if _I'd_ pricked my finger, none of us would be here."

I hold my expression steady. "I could've endured it," I say, but it feels too much like a lie. "I would've had to let you make your own way to the nurse's office, but I could've stayed nearby." Yes, that feels true.

"You were just as desperate to leave the room."

"You think I couldn't smell it through the wall?"

That surprises her; she clearly _did_ think that.

"In any other situation, I would've left the building, but I wanted to stay with you."

Rachel and Kim can't help wondering how far away I could smell such a minute amount of human blood. They're understandably worried about hurting themselves.

"It's completely different now," I tell them. "You could have blood pouring from an artery and I'd still be in full control of my thirst. I'd even be able to help you."

"Like Doctor Cullen?" Jared asks.

"Yes. Exactly like that." Though Jared and Paul are a little more trusting, remembering my treatment of Bella's and Leah's wounds, Rachel and Kim don't quite believe it, so I decide to explain in the hope of easing their growing fear of me. "I used to marvel at Carlisle's complete immunity to the scent of human blood, thinking that I'd never reach that point, no matter how many years I practised. But resisting Bella's blood has given me all the control I need."

While they think it through, Rachel remembers what Paul told her when they were discussing whether to come with us—that I've only ever hunted evil men—and wonders if _evil_ blood isn't as nice.

"I have drunk Bella's blood," I say, hoping I'm not digging myself another hole. "To save her from a vampire bite."

The girls stare at Bella, amazed that she can be so relaxed around me, but she is too busy frowning at me to notice.

 _Will you drink her blood when you change her?_ , Seth asks, so I give him a subtle head shake while trying to come up with a way to appease her.

And then her expression changes abruptly—from anger to anguish. "It still hurts, though, doesn't it?" she murmurs. "Being around humans."

I stop plucking the third bird (it's almost done anyway). "I'm not as comfortable as Carlisle, but it barely hurts anymore."

The scepticism is written all over her face. "Since when?"

"Since I got back, it's been getting less and less. I didn't notice at first. I thought it only felt different around you."

She shakes her head, dismissing the answer. "I understand how that helps you fight the impulse to kill me," she says matter-of-factly, seemingly oblivious to her audience's astonishment, "but how could that stop your throat burning?"

I glance around at the others. "She's not suicidal," I joke, "just trusting."

 _How do you know?_ , Paul jokes back, pointing out that I don't know what she's thinking.

"I have worried about her sanity from time to time."

" _What?_ " Bella demands, unamused.

"Talking about _my impulse to kill people_ tends to unsettle people," I tease, hoping to appease her with a joke; Seth chuckles, and I am pleasantly surprised by how relaxed the others are, too—they're still shocked that Bella had accepted such a risk in the beginning, but they aren't scared of me _now_.

She rolls her eyes. "That's not what I said."

"No, but they didn't exactly think you spent time with me wondering if any second might be your last."

"I never thought about that when I was _with_ you."

I try to smile and not spoil the mood, but my memories of her sleep-uttered fears make it hard to enjoy the joke on any level. Especially when I know she had thought about it the first day I'd taken her to the meadow—when I had come _so_ close to killing her. And then I remember her joke about _throat exposure_ , and my lips curve into a wide smile. She always knows exactly what to say. I go back to plucking the bird.

She eyes my smile suspiciously. "Stop changing the subject and answer the question."

"I don't know how it stopped the burning. It just did. Mind over matter."

She smiles at that.

"Carlisle doesn't feel anything," I add, "but I always thought it wasn't just time, it was the fact that he's never consumed human blood."

" _Never?_ " Jared asks, surprised.

I nod. "He tasted our blood when he bit the four of us, but he spat out any that entered his mouth."

"That's really hard, isn't it?" Seth asks.

" _Really_ hard. Basically impossible."

 _Why did he do it, then?_ , Rachel thinks, not quite brave enough to ask me.

"We were all dying," I tell her as I finish my task. I sit back down between Bella and Seth, rubbing my hands together to clean off the gunk. "He had been thinking of making himself a companion for a long time, and then my mother asked him to save me."

She screws up her nose. The word _companion_ makes her imagine that he'd wanted me for a lover instead of a son.

"His motivation was partly selfish," I concede, "but I could never blame him. His heart is too pure."

"And you _like_ being a vampire," Seth says.

I nudge his leg with my knee. "Shut up, dog," I tease.

" _Woof woof_ ," he retorts, emphasising my non-response even as he teasingly adheres to my categorisation.

Jared can't decide if Seth is being serious or not. "I thought you hated being a vampire."

"I have struggled with the downsides since becoming one," I reply, trying to summarise all the pain and unpleasantness without dwelling on the horror, "but it's different now."

"Now that you're not _a_ _slave to the monster_ ," Seth pipes up, sparing me the difficulty of explaining what I mean when my feelings about it are so conflicted (if I weren't a vampire, I would have died long before Bella was born, yet my being a vampire condemns her to this unnatural, bittersweet existence). "You love being super strong and super smart—and super _sexy_."

I'm not sure what inspires me to do it—probably Seth picturing me as a sparkly underwear model coupled with Bella's grin and my need to change the subject even further—but I find myself shushing him exaggeratedly. "I _told_ you not to say things like that in front of Bella."

Bella actually _giggles_ at my silly joke, and for the billionth time, I wish I could know what she's thinking. "So you two _literally_ went cruising while I was at work?" she asks, eyes sparkling in the twilight.

Jared and Paul crack up and I am shocked by what they (and Rachel) know _cruising_ to mean.

"I doubt she knows that," I say.

"What?" she asks.

Paul answers; "Going _cruising_ means searching for randoms to f—" Rachel elbows him in the gut before I have to interrupt—"sleep with," he amends.

Bella's eyes widen comically. "I thought it just meant looking for a make-out spot," she mumbles, cheeks burning, clearly too embarrassed _not_ to speak.

Seth chuckles. "Me, too, Bells," he agrees. "That's all Edward and I did, promise."

Her heart thumps a little louder, but I assume it is simply her ongoing embarrassment; she can't possibly be feeling the amusement and curiosity that the other girls feel at the thought of Seth kissing me… right?

"You _wish_ ," Paul taunts him, making fun of our closeness.

Seth shrugs. "I'm not allowed to hook up with a girl, so I've got to get my kicks somewhere."

"Not _allowed_?" Rachel asks sharply, thinking that Sam has given him an order (it is the one thing she dislikes about the pack—that Paul is bound to obey his alpha's commands).

"Mum _and_ Edward said no girls. I'm not old enough for either of them."

I have to laugh at the truth of that—he is too young as far as Sue is concerned, and not old enough as far as I am concerned.

"I said I'd avoid girls if Edward could make up for what I'm missing out on," he adds, waggling an eyebrow, and I'm worried that he's taking the joke too far.

"Which I do with a _car_ ," I add, before the girls start believing his jokes might actually be true.

"I'm glad _someone_ likes what you do with a car," Bella jokes, making Seth laugh. (I would laugh, too, if I weren't so surprised that she is apparently _enjoying_ the innocent but undeniably risqué banter.)

Paul and Jared both feel slightly left out of the joke; are we referring to my "speed demon" ways (they've heard Bella's and Sue's objections more than once), or something else?

"Just the speeding," I confirm, before their speculations wander into deviant sexual territory.

"And the _handling_ ," Seth adds, grinning, amused by the "easy" pun.

I roll my eyes, but the others are amused enough to chuckle; they've all either heard or seen _and_ heard of my driving talents, thanks to Seth's exuberant reports. Even Bella gives a little snorting chuckle as she shakes her head. When Seth leans towards her, intending to say that she's going to _love_ my driving when she's no longer in fear of her life (because he understands that consciously knowing I'd never let her be hurt doesn't fully allay the fear of being in a car accident), I wave him back.

"No more," I tell him. "Please."

He quirks a brow and teases me (in his thoughts) for lining him up for a perfect _that's what_ she _said_. His use of the lame yet at times amusing joke that's becoming ever more popular lately (and is Embry's current favourite) is cute because, despite his previous innuendo-laden jokes, he doesn't mean this one as a sexual double entendre (which is the foundation of its existence). I give him a grin as he relaxes back into his makeshift stump chair.

Before the conversation moves on, Jared announces that it's time to focus on dinner. He leads by example, grabbing the first bird and starting to gut it in preparation for cooking. I am tempted to offer my assistance and amaze them all with my skill, but I decide to keep my cooking talents a surprise for Bella on our honeymoon. In any case, Jared certainly does all right working the gas stove, and Bella, Rachel, and Kim enjoy making side dishes to supplement the wolves' purely carnivorous diet. I assist them by searching for edible flora; they're a little nervous about a couple of the plants I bring them, but they gratefully accept the ones they know and the plump brown mushrooms and yellow chanterelles.

After dinner, Jared and Paul pull out a bottle of bourbon for "dessert".

"Seth can't have any because he's a _baby_ ," Paul taunts, "but there's plenty for anyone else who wants some."

I'm touched when he includes me in that, but I can't in good conscience waste his liquor. "There's no point me having any—I can taste alcohol, but it's as unappealing as anything else, and I can't get drunk on it, even if that _wouldn't_ be an incredibly bad idea."

"It doesn't affect you at all?" Jared asks, wondering if any drugs would affect me.

"Our metabolism works differently—or rather, _doesn't_ work. Nothing chemical affects us."

Jared nods sympathetically. "Beer does nothing for us now, too."

Rachel makes sarcastically sympathetic noises and then pulls the bottle out of Jared's hand. She takes a swig, then whoops softly. "Why on earth would you miss beer when you've got a real drink right here?"

Paul chuckles. "That's my woman."

Bella and Kim both decline, so the three of them have a few swigs each and then put the bottle away for another night.

As darkness falls, the wolves and I set out a ring of torches to light up the camp, while the girls put on a couple of extra layers. Although that is more than enough for Kim and Rachel, I doubt Bella's jersey and jacket can stave off my chill (even though I'm still a little warmer than usual thanks to the hot spring). Anticipating her unwillingness to wrap herself in a blanket or her sleeping bag in front of everyone, I put on a few extra layers of clothing, too.

Bella eyes the thick, insulating jersey and corduroy pants suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

"Staying warm," I tease, earning an eye roll in response.

Rachel is curious about my own sense of warmth or coldness, so I assure her that my own temperature is as comfortable to me as the wolves' is to them.

"And as _un_ comfortable for Bella?" she asks, part joking, part curious, and part disturbed by the thought of my coldness (she has never actually touched me, so she can't really imagine what it feels like).

Going with the joke for now (I won't suggest that she touches me in the darkness), I say, "Like the wolves, I can't tell when my temperature gets uncomfortable for others."

"You can't tell when Bella gets too cold?" Seth asks, surprised.

"I'm not sensitive to differences within the range she can tolerate."

He appreciates that, but struggles to understand how my temperature gauge can be so inexact, given how precise my other senses are.

"We know hotter than us and colder than us," I tell him, "and, in a lot of ways, it really is that imprecise. I've learned what Bella's version of ninety-eight-point-six feels like, but the difference between normal and hypothermic is too small for me to detect."

Bella looks as thoughtful as the others and I regret being so candid; although she ought to be thinking that we take far too many risks with her health, I wouldn't be surprised if she's actually thinking that she can hide how cold she is more than she'd realised.

At least my precautions tonight work perfectly; she doesn't shiver once the whole evening, despite leaning against me as tightly as the other girls lean on their personal heat packs. I draw the line at sharing the stretcher, though. When everyone turns in for the night, Bella tries to pull me down with her, but without the ability to counter my resistance with a verbal argument— _her_ strength—she has no choice but to give in.

"Sleep, Bella," I murmur, stroking her cheek. Her eyelids flutter as I follow my fingers with my lips, kissing along her jaw and around her ear. "Dream for both of us."

That makes her smile, and I hope she will have pleasant dreams despite the unfamiliar bed. I _really_ hope she won't say Jacob's name, but I would rather her dreams be happy. So it is an enormous relief that everyone is fast asleep when she starts talking (and that she fell asleep before Paul and Rachel indulged their physical desires). She says the mongrel's name once in between commenting on the impressive power of waterfalls, but then she says _my_ name twice before her tone abruptly changes.

"You're trembling," she murmurs, and I hope she's still talking to me. "Don't be afraid." Is she dreaming about our wedding night? "I want all of you, Edward."

"Bella," I reply, stroking her hair.

"Kiss me," she demands, and I can't resist touching my lips to her temple.

She hums softly and then settles into deeper sleep. While she sleeps peacefully—dreaming or not, I have no idea—I listen to the others' dreams. In Seth's dream, he and I are racing each other through the forest—and he wins; Rachel is dreaming of Hawai'i and her twin sister Rebecca; Paul is hunting a pack of goats who constantly thwart his attacks; Kim dreams of getting married to Jared; and Jared dreams of Kim stumbling into the path of a grizzly—he gets there before it attacks, but it is so strong and determined that the fight is brutal. I am a little concerned that I inspired the awful dream, but I tell myself that people have bad dreams from time to time. Who knows, it could be a recurring worry for him.

In the morning, they all attest to a pleasant sleep—even Jared, thanks to his body's quick recovery time. I feel better when I hear that his nightmare isn't new, though I wish I could offer some advice to help him. (Until now, I hadn't realised how fortunate _I_ am not to dream; my fears would create all manner of horrific nightmares.)

Jared checked in with Sam overnight, so he confirms not only that Sam and Emily both enjoyed the trip back, but also that Sam knows now that he was "being an idiot". It is the breakthrough everyone has been hoping for, and it gets the day off to a smashing start.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine: Story-teller**

Over a bacon-and-egg breakfast, we discuss the day's plan. Our dip in the hot spring yesterday has made the boys eager for a "proper" swim, so they propose a short walk to a larger swimming hole on the river. The water won't be anywhere near as warm, but there'll be a lot more room to move. None of the girls seem particularly keen until Bella proposes that the three of them relax by the river while _we_ swim.

While the others assemble clothes, snacks, fishing equipment (the boys are promising enough fresh fish for lunch and dinner), and other items for our little excursion, I wash the breakfast dishes. I wait for Rachel and Kim to enter their respective tents before moving especially fast, but they are pleasantly comfortable with the evidence of my speed when they reappear after a minute to find everything packed away.

"Handy," Rachel jokes, before worrying that I might be offended by a joke about my speed being used to serve them, especially since I also move at human speed for their sakes.

I give her a smile to show her I'm not bothered, and then Seth lays claim to my service so I don't need to make a joke of my own.

"The only problem is," he goes on, "Mum knows he helps, so now she just assumes he did everything."

We all laugh at that; Paul laughs especially hard at the thought of me cleaning a toilet, so I assure them that I haven't been depriving Seth of important life lessons.

"But I actually enjoy washing dishes," I add, partly because it's true and partly in the hope that Bella will let me take care of the chores when we're living together.

Kim understands the sense of peacefulness and satisfaction that washing dishes can impart; the others are more focused on nominating me the camp dishwasher, so I promise to take care of all dishes as my share of camp duties before they have to ask.

That puts the boys in particularly high spirits as we head off to the swimming hole. When Bella tries to say she'll assist me, I tell her that I'll 'assist' her with walking (by carrying her). She pouts adorably, and I can't resist stroking her cheek.

"I want to do my share," I say to appease her.

"That's way more than your share," she replies. "You deserve to relax, too."

"I'm _two hundred percent_ relaxed," I promise her, and she chuckles at the silly joke, even as her concentration shifts to her feet when the path narrows.

Seth has raced off far ahead, but the other two couples are taking their time, enjoying the walk. All four of them feel equally at home in the forest, among the hundreds of shades of green and brown that sparkle faintly in the pale, shifting light.

The swimming hole is nicely sheltered, so the girls spread out a couple of picnic mats (with waterproof linings) along the mossy bank and lounge beside the water, laughing as we each leap into the deep water using our own unique technique. Their amusement encourages us to show off, and I can't resist any more than my fellow males. So I dare to tell Rachel and Kim that I don't have to breathe. They are less shocked than they would have been yesterday, but Bella's grin reassures them as I disappear under the water.

"He held his breath around me at first," Bella tells them, "but he pretended to breathe so I didn't notice, which made it a bit of a shock when he told me." (I fondly recall her shock at the news that Carlisle had swum to France, and then chuckle at my own deliberately sudden revelation about the non-necessity of breathing for us—it had been an attempt to prompt the running and screaming that I had both feared and hoped for, back before I'd realised the depth of her devotion.)

"He was pretending last night?" Rachel asks.

"No, that was real. He hasn't had to pretend for ages. He doesn't _have_ to breathe, but he prefers to—otherwise he loses his sense of smell."

"Could he breathe underwater?"

Bella nods. "His sense of smell works underwater, too, but breathing equalises the pressure inside his body so he can go right to the bottom—or hover like a fish at a particular depth."

"Cool," Rachel remarks, thinking it sounds fun; Kim nods in agreement with the other girls, but she actually thinks it sounds terrifying—vampires are far scarier than sharks.

For her sake, I don't breathe in any water and I keep my movements within the normal human range (apart from not resurfacing to breathe). It's still plenty of fun, though, so it isn't really a compromise.

When Seth enlists my help searching for jasper, I stop mucking around and start scanning the riverbed. He particularly wants red, yellow, black, grey, and brown stones (he wants to carve a little wolf for every member of the pack), but asks me to show him any I find. For a few minutes, he alternates between searching an area of his own and following me, before asking me to hold onto him so he doesn't have to waste precious air maintaining the necessary depth. He still has to resurface, though, and he can't help wishing he could share _my_ unused oxygen.

 _Can I ask Bella?_ , he teases, knowing he'd need her permission for anything that so closely resembles kissing.

I shake my head, then jerk my head in Paul's general direction; he'd never let us hear the end of it (even though, if we were gay, he wouldn't care about us _actually_ kissing in his presence).

 _I don't care if Paul gets jealous_ , Seth jokes, though he also understands that it's not worth all the hassling.

Watching Seth and me communicate underwater, Jared ponders how my telepathy compares to theirs in a way he hasn't considered before—because their telepathy goes both ways, their thoughts are synchronised to a certain extent, so how easy is it for me to follow the discrete thoughts of multiple people? When Seth gets out to study a piece of brown and white banded jasper, the rest of us climb out, too; Jared wants to ask his question and Paul doesn't see the point of staying in alone. I do a quick lap along the trail back to camp to dry off, and then settle down beside Bella and the others on the bank.

Jared waits until I give him a smile before asking his question aloud. "How easy is it to follow the thoughts of multiple people?"

"Relatively easy," I tell him, though I know I'm opening myself up to a bevy of questions (Seth and I have already discussed my mental capabilities, but he hasn't shared any of it with his pack). "I can listen to several minds at once—I can think about more than one thing at a time."

"How many things?" Paul asks, more interested in that than in learning more about my specific gift (which is perhaps why he hasn't thought about his and Rachel's _loud_ thoughts last night, as Rachel is); as usual, his concerns are focused on the advantages their enemies have. Even with absolute proof of his trust in me—Rachel is sitting not two yards from me—it is still incredible to listen to the complete separation in his thoughts between what _I_ am and the vampires who are his mortal enemies.

"Several," I reply casually, testing his interest (and trying not to look directly at Rachel, because I don't mean for her to feel embarrassed, or guilty).

"Five? Ten? A _hundred_?"

"Depends on how focused I am," I answer, still debating how much detail to give—I don't want to frighten them; their innate confidence is part of what helps them defeat vampires.

"What's usual then?" Jared prompts, also thinking about this advantage their enemies have over them.

"It honestly depends on how many things are on my mind," I tell him.

"Right now, then."

I have a feeling this is going to backfire, so I warn them upfront. "I'm not telling you _what_ I'm thinking about—" their thoughts immediately rebel. "Yes, I'm a hypocrite," I agree, unrepentant. "And although I apologise for that, I'm not sharing." Seth chuckles; he knows how much of myself I share with him, and he doesn't think I'm a hypocrite. "Usually, a hunting vampire _consciously_ only thinks about the hunt. A vampire in a fight is only thinking about survival. He can think about many possible options at once, but the more distracted he is, and the less disciplined he is in thought—"

They don't understand what I mean by that, so I pause to explain. "Vampires don't get everything their own way, but generally speaking, most have relatively easy lives, so they aren't used to coping with stressful situations. So those vampires might struggle to think about more than, say, five or six things at a time. Newborns struggle to think consciously about _anything_ when they're under stress." (I don't mention that _thirst_ causes stress.) "Even experienced vampires won't be able to think about as many things when they're in a fight."

That thought crystallises my explanation. "Perhaps it's easiest to say that the _importance_ of the most present thought affects how many other thoughts can be sustained simultaneously."

"So, right now," Jared says, not letting it go, "how many things are you thinking about?"

"I guess, twelve main things, each broken down into various related thoughts."

They don't know how to process that, and I don't exactly want to explain that I've severely undersold my cognitive abilities; I could easily think about a hundred different things in a second. But I am exceptional, and so is my family, compared to a typical vampire.

"It would generally be less for other vampires," I go on, trying to provide a more accurate description of the mental faculties of a normal vampire. "My gift has necessitated a strong focus on mental discipline."

"Do our thoughts count as five separate things, or _one_ thing?" Paul asks.

"Five," I reply, pleased I can say this without lying (because as much as he would prefer his privacy, he would've been insulted not to be individually important), "because I'm listening to your thoughts, and thinking about them, too."

Only Seth is comfortable with my answer (and not simply because he already knew), so I try to distract and comfort them at the same time.

"Before I met Bella, I used to tune out thoughts to the best of my ability, only keeping tabs on thoughts about us, in case anyone became suspicious or overly fearful, but now I can't help listening more and more—even to complete strangers—though I do my best not to let it affect how I see people."

"How can you _not_ judge someone based on their thoughts?" Jared asks.

"I've heard the thoughts of cruel vampires and evil men—good people can think what they like. Actions are what count." Then I realise that I dislike Jessica despite her overt friendliness towards Bella. "I don't _always_ succeed, and being close to me does mean giving up your privacy, but I appreciate how much of an intrusion it is—I would hate it, so I'm grateful that you tolerate me, and acutely aware that _I'm_ the one who has to filter the thoughts, because you shouldn't have to. Think as you would if I couldn't hear you. I won't give away your secrets."

"Not even to Bella?" Paul questions.

I smile, glad to have been given a way to lighten the mood. "If she asked, I'd tell her anything—but you trust her not to ask, don't you?"

He laughs. "If _I_ were her, I would."

We all laugh at that, and then Jared, Paul, and Rachel really do relax. Rachel sheds her embarrassment at exposing me to her thoughts last night—after all, won't I have heard thousands of people making love in the decades I've been a vampire? Kim is still a little nervous, but it's shyness more than anything else. I consider attempting to describe what listening to vampire mind is like—each line of thought is like an individual instrument within an orchestra, with its own specific harmony that clearly distinguishes it—but their thoughts give me hope that we can move onto a different subject.

Jared can see that Kim is still self-conscious and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Then he raises a related question that he's been curious about for a while, one that he and Kim have discussed but he hadn't got around to asking me yet. "Isn't it really boring being around slow humans?"

"Time doesn't mean as much to me as it does to you."

"It doesn't feel like you're speaking in slow motion?" Kim asks softly, asking me a direct question for the first time.

I smile at her, careful not to show my teeth. "Not exactly. I had to learn how slowly I should speak around humans, but my gift made it easier because I could hear the speed at which they were thinking, so I always had a guide to follow. Now, it's so easy, I don't need to think about it—I plan out the words I'm going to say and I think about the next thing as I'm saying it." Bella snorts softly, disgruntled by the description of my quick mind. "But it doesn't mean I'm not as present in the moment as any of you are."

Paul doesn't follow part of my explanation. "You stop thinking about what you're saying even before you finish saying it?"

"Yes and no. I don't need to _consciously_ think about what I'm saying for the time it takes to say it. Sometimes, I reword what I had planned to say."

" _Sometimes_ ," Bella repeats irritably.

I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Because I _care_."

"Because you're a show-off," she counters straight back.

I can't help laughing. "You wouldn't pass up anything that gives you an edge, would you?"

"You don't need an edge over _me_ ," she mutters.

I know she means it, and I hate that, almost as much as I hate that I can't give her a proper kiss—because she would be too embarrassed to take comfort in it. "I appreciate your indulgence," I say instead, trying to joke.

She rolls her eyes.

"It's like sending an email with a delay," Rachel suggests, grinning, to get the conversation back on track.

I have to laugh. "In a way," I agree, "but I'm not explaining what that is to these technophobes."

She laughs with me, correctly guessing that Kim is the only one who knows what delaying an email means (or that it is even possible).

"We don't need technology," Jared retorts. "Telepathy trumps _email_ every time."

"Us werewolves got it sussed," Seth agrees.

"You're _not_ werewolves," I say, already grinning as I anticipate their reactions (this is something I haven't even told Seth).

"We can call ourselves werewolves if we want to," Paul says, while Jared points out the inconsistencies of the vampire legends. Seth is alone in (partially) guessing where I'm going with it.

"You're both right," I reply, "but there are those for whom the legends are based on reality."

"There are _real_ werewolves?" Bella asks.

When I nod, they all start. "There are men who transform into mindless killing machines at the height of the full moon. They aren't vulnerable to silver, and they remember their time as wolves, though they often reject it as a particularly vivid dream. They can only be killed by other werewolves, shape-shifters such as yourselves, or vampires—or a direct hit from a large explosive, I suppose."

"Could _you_ kill one?" Bella asks worriedly, and I regret my deliberately menacing description.

I stroke her arm. "They are virtually extinct, and there aren't any in America," I assure her before answering properly. "If I ever _did_ come across one, I probably wouldn't be alone, so I'd be in no danger, but I don't know if I'd be able to read its thoughts and I honestly don't know if I'd be strong enough on my own. I could probably outrun it, though—and I should at least be able to hear enough of its mind to gauge its location."

"Do they age?" Jared asks, wondering about the similarities between "true" werewolves and their pack.

"No, they don't age either, and as far as I'm aware, only men have ever survived the first transformation."

"Don't. Age. _Either?_ " Bella repeats stiffly. She didn't know. I'm an idiot.

"As long as we keep changing," Seth explains quietly, "we don't age."

Bella's face flushes brilliant red and her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she takes a deep breath and buries her frustration; I'm glad that Rachel and Kim are here—they feel a similar frustration, but there's _no_ solution (not even a bad one) for them.

The question of age makes Rachel ask the question she's had almost since learning that vampires are real—do children survive the change? I'm not sure that it's the best topic to take Bella's mind off her discontent, but they are all interested in my answer so I find myself telling them all about immortal children and the trouble their lack of impulse control has caused in our history. Even sanitised, the stories of the Volturi's swift judgement unnerve them (Rachel is extremely glad that she didn't wait till nighttime to ask her question).

To change the topic of conversation, I offer to indulge Rachel's curiosity about my granite skin. She immediately leans forward, so I do the same, holding out my hand so she can reach my fingers. She gasps at the texture, surprised by how hard my skin feels—harder, somehow, than rock, she thinks. The temperature is much less troubling because she'd expected that.

"I thought you'd feel more like a dead body," she remarks, making Kim, who'd been almost curious enough to touch me, flinch. "But you feel like a sculpture."

Her thoughts encourage me to tell them what I told Seth about my seemingly contradictory form. "Every cell in my body hardened during the change, so my bones and muscles and skin and all the other tissues now feel exactly the same, even though technically they still perform their roles—my muscles contract, my skin stretches so I can move freely, and so on."

 _Even your_ eye _is hard?_ , Rachel wonders.

I briefly consider tapping my cornea, although that would probably disgust her—but then Seth reaches over and does it for me (because he can see her staring at me and it's the grossest thing he can think of).

She and Kim react with the anticipated shock, but Jared and Paul think it's hilarious.

"Unnecessary organs are lost or repurposed, though," I go on, "so my liver doesn't do the job yours does."

"Do you still have intestines?" Paul asks, trying to match up this idea of what my insides are like with the rock, rock, and more rock they saw when dismantling Laurent and Victoria.

"Technically, yes, but they can't digest anything, so they're just cavities." Keeping it simple, I add, "Any food we eat has to go out the way it went in."

Seth makes the two-fingered sign for inducing vomiting and the others screw up their noses.

As Seth starts to tell them about my extra chromosome, Rachel wonders if there's anything strange about my "equipment", so I subtly shake my head in answer before she dares to ask, even though that's not, technically, 100% accurate. (The foreskin, like the hymen in a woman, disappears during the transformation, so all vampire males are effectively circumcised—a fact which had initially shocked Emmett, but he'd quickly decided that it didn't matter.)

"What genes are on there?" Jared asks.

I shrug. "No one's studied it. Alice thinks our special gifts are encoded on it, but that's just speculation."

That reminds him of another question he's been meaning to ask me. "If that's true, wouldn't all vampires have an extra ability?"

"Not all humans are gifted."

Seth laughs. "You mean, _I was a super-special human and now I'm a super-special vampire_."

"That's the logical conclusion," I concur, making them all laugh.

"How many have gifts?" Rachel asks.

"We think it works out at roughly one in every hundred."

"But there are _three_ in your family?"

I nod. "And two more in our extended family," I add, because they'll be meeting them at the wedding (Alice has seen that only Irina will boycott the event).

"The clan of five in Denali?" Jared asks, recalling what I've told them about the only other 'vegetarians' we know.

"Yes. Eleazar can sense the gifts of others—" I hesitate, belatedly realising that Kate's gift is scary.

Seth, in contrast, has no qualms about sharing. "And Kate makes electricity," he tells them, touching my arm to demonstrate. " _Zap_."

"She's not malicious about it," I say before they can be too unnerved by the idea.

"She's zapped _you_ ," Seth jokes.

"Because I was curious."

"Did it do any damage?" Jared asks.

"No. She can create a charge as light as a tingle or as powerful as a lightning bolt, but it doesn't do any physical damage because she essentially reabsorbs the energy back into her own body—so it just hurts like hell." In answer to their curiosity, I add, "I haven't experienced full strength, and I don't ever want to."

"Does she magnetise?" Kim asks, recalling what she learned in class about static electricity.

"She doesn't make objects magnetic, but she can generate a magnetic field around herself that can attract quite large objects if she concentrates, but we're only talking small distances, so it's really only useful when it comes to holding onto something or lifting something _really_ heavy."

"Does that mean she's stronger than Emmett?" Bella asks.

"A _lot_ stronger—it drives Emmett crazy. She can create electromagnetic pulses, too, so she can short out electronics, and she's learning to cut through metal."

"I'm officially jealous," Seth declares, impressed by the versatility of her gift; his top choice would be the ability to fly, which he thinks she could also do if she tried hard enough.

"She can't fly," I remind him.

"She can _hover_."

"Not effortlessly, and only over sufficiently magnetic terrain."

He pouts at that. _If she wanted to badly enough, she could figure something out_. "The Earth's core is magnetic, isn't it?"

"The short answer is yes, but it's weak—I'll give you a science lesson another day."

" _Explanation_ , great; _lesson_ , hell no."

While the others laugh, I feel the need to defend myself. "That's what I meant—and I promise it'll be so interesting, you won't even know you're learning something new."

"I'll hold you to that," Seth warns me, grinning.

In the conversational lull, Jared turns to the fishing gear, Seth goes back to studying the rock I collected for him, and Paul pulls out a packet of crisps. I can't help screwing up my nose when he breaks open the bag and their vile scent fills the air; the artificial flavouring smells so revolting, I can't imagine how it can possibly be fit for human consumption.

Rachel notices my distaste and empathises completely. "You don't like the smell of chicken salt either?" she jokes.

"How on earth does that revolting substance smell like chicken to _anyone_?"

They all laugh at that. Paul shakes his head, rejecting the question. "It doesn't." He analyses why he likes the flavour and decides that it's strong and rich—but he kinda likes the artificialness.

"You're crazy," I tell him.

He just shrugs and tosses another handful of crisps into his mouth.

"Don't come near me with that mouth," Rachel warns him, leaning away to put a bit more distance between them.

"All food smells that bad to me," I tell her.

"Ew," she mutters, feeling sorry for me. Then, as she thinks of all the wonderful smells I'm missing out on, she realises my sense of smell must make body odour nigh on unbearable. "How bad do _humans_ smell?" she jokes.

"Human blood smells good enough to make up for it," I reply, daring to joke about it.

" _Really?_ " Bella asks, while the others are pleasantly amused by the quip (even if Kim is also a little unnerved).

"No, not really," I allow. "Resisting the bloodlust it creates takes effort. That's the real reason most vampires don't linger in inhabited regions," I say, subtly reminding Kim that humans are in a lot less danger than she may feel. But the boys don't understand why vampires don't just hunt more often, so I feel the need to add, "The only thing that prevents all-out rampage is self-preservation; if they break the rule of secrecy, the Volturi will take them out."

"Which is why children can't control themselves," Bella murmurs. "Because they can't appreciate that consequence."

I nod. "But it will be different for you," I say, wanting to comfort her while still hoping not to make our audience uncomfortable. "You understand what will happen in a way that none of us did, even if you can't imagine what it will actually feel like. Only a handful of people will have ever been in that situation."

I'm surprised when the others' thoughts are more focused on how long Bella will wait before undergoing the transformation rather than the unpleasantness of a newborn Bella. But Jared is more interested in the question of how many vampires the Volturi do actually take out relative to how many 'slip up'.

"How many 'accidents' are actually caused by vampires covering their tracks?"

"Vampires _are_ rare," I remind him, although he and Paul immediately want me to put a number on it. "There aren't usually more than two to three thousand throughout the whole world, but, yes, most vampires who cause a scene manage to cover their own tracks well enough. Car 'accidents' are probably the most frequent nowadays, but they're still complicated. Freak building collapses and gas explosions can be the work of vampires needing to destroy evidence—but humans aren't above such things either. Vampires in Europe have to be more careful than elsewhere because the Volturi police their home most closely, but every so often, if there haven't been any high-profile incidents anywhere, they pick lesser troublemakers around the world to remind everyone of their reach."

"What does _lesser_ mean?" Jared asks, concerned that we all might become a target one day.

"The leader of the Volturi respects Carlisle, so it would have to be a major breach of secrecy before they decided to attack us. If they learned of our gifts, they would no doubt seek to recruit us, but there'd be no ramifications if we said no."

Jared isn't overly reassured, so I try to explain that they see themselves as protectors of the vampire way of life, not as rulers subjugating the vampire populace—even though they do consider themselves the vampire equivalent of royalty.

He isn't convinced, and I have to agree that I wouldn't want to test their opinion of the Quileute wolves; Caius's fear of werewolves is no secret, and I have no doubt that any wolf unlucky enough to cross his path, _were_ wolf or no, falls foul of his hunger for revenge. "We won't go anywhere near them," I promise.

Jared accepts that; he understands that there's nothing else any of us can do, and he's grateful that they at least know about the potential threat of the Volturi. So he shakes off the pall and turns his mind to a much happier topic—fishing. When he starts sizing up a good spot just up from the swimming hole, I remind him that we will have scared all the fish away for a good 50 yards at least.

Paul thinks there's another deep pool a few miles upstream that would make the perfect fishy paradise, so the girls roll up their mats and we head off. A very light drizzle starts to fall, but I'm confident it won't get worse (thanks to Alice's weather forecasts), so we keep to the plan.

All three girls are equally disinterested in fishing, so they each, independently, brought a book to read. They briefly explore the section of river that the boys choose, before settling down on their mats beneath the shelter of a medium-sized Douglas fir. Bella is rereading _Wuthering Heights_ , Rachel is trying out the children's fantasy novel _Over Sea, Under Stone_ (chosen to ensure she won't feel embarrassed when reading in my 'hearing'), and Kim is broadening her Jane Austen experience with _Northanger Abbey_.

Between them, the boys manage to catch several good-sized fish, including five brook trout, three flathead catfish, a sturgeon, and a pike. For lunch, they cook four of the trout, saving the rest for dinner. Then the wolves phase and we run back to camp; Bella rides on Seth's back so I can carry the fish and the fishing gear. It is marvellous that Rachel and Kim aren't the least bit afraid of me, despite knowing so much more about my capabilities.

Halfway back, I catch the scent of ripe Saskatoon berries, so I set down my load and dart aside to gather some. At camp, the boys phase back and we settle down in our seats around the circle to relax for a moment, and so that the humans can snack on the berries I collected.

"Could you outrun a bullet?" Rachel asks, thinking about the blur of limbs that was all she could see when I was running fast—not realising just how fast bullets fly.

"No. But I could outrun a jet plane, and I could catch a bullet if it came within arm's reach—or dodge it." Jared and Paul are stunned by the news, so I clarify that I can run at least four times faster than the average vampire, and maintain that speed over much longer distances (because most vampires are too easily distracted).

While the two wolves try to figure out the fastest they've ever managed to run (realising that they are capable of significant bursts of speed when there's a dangerous vampire up ahead), Rachel is still thinking about why I'd bother dodging a bullet. "Could a bullet hurt you?"

"Of course. A large bullet might be powerful enough to penetrate my skin at close range, but regardless, the impact would still hurt." The girls are surprised, so I explain more thoroughly. "It takes a lot to injure me, but my pain receptors are every bit as sensitive as a human's—if not _more_ sensitive."

They're all intrigued by that. "Why?"

I shrug. "Predators feel as much fear as their prey; maybe we're hardwired to avoid pain the way all creatures are. Or perhaps it's merely a consequence of the transformation—our senses are all enhanced, including pain."

"If the bullet lodged inside you," Seth says, thinking of something he hasn't considered before, "would you heal around it?"

"I don't think so," I reply, then grin as he pictures the way bullets pop out of Wolverine's body as he heals. "That'd be my guess," I agree, leaving Seth to explain our exchange to the others.

Jared is intrigued by the picture I've painted of a predator that is more instinct-driven than he'd thought. "So vampires are basically fearful creatures?"

"Essentially," I agree. "When I was hunting human monsters, I felt extremely satisfied—I was a vampire vigilante, using my strength to protect the innocent—and yet it only took a couple of years for me to feel the monster taking over, to feel my outlook on the world starting to warp. When I returned to Carlisle and his way of life, I was caught off guard by the depth of mental clarity that I regained. It was easy to resume our 'vegetarian' diet, but I mourned the human lives I could have saved if I'd only been strong enough to contain the monster—but Carlisle knew exactly how to shake me out of that mindset of imagined guilt. He showed me that I could support him in helping so many more lives, and he also insisted that I deserved to have a family, and they deserved to have _me_. I couldn't live with him and hunt humans, so I made my peace with the decision to use my gift solely for my own and my family's needs. And helping Carlisle meant I was able to get my moral superiority back without having to walk that line between guardian and monster."

Seth chuckles at his image of me strutting through the dark, a smug, superhuman vigilante, but Bella is much more serious. She keeps her thoughts to herself, so I can only speculate as to their detail, but her smile and the love in her eyes tell me all I really need to know.

Looking into her eyes, I can't help wondering if her fearlessness and willingness for self-sacrifice will protect her from the monster's power. Wouldn't that be wonderful!

"Now that I think about it," I go on, wanting to share as much of my insight as possible, in the hope that it might help Bella through her change, "part of the monster's power _is_ fear. That's where your point comes in, Seth—believing that the monster has power gives it more power. Maybe part of what gave Carlisle his strength in the beginning was that he didn't fear death, only losing himself to the monster." I smile, amused by the realisation that the thing he'd feared was fear itself; I'd always thought of that as a stupid notion—if you fear _fear_ , you're still afraid of something—but now I think I understand it. "If other vampires realised just how much joy _we_ are able to find in our existence, I believe many would choose to follow our way of life."

"You really believe that?" Paul asks; he thinks the hopeless romantic in me is letting my imagination run wild.

I give him a wry smile. "Perhaps that's overly optimistic," I allow. "In reality, many might _try_ to follow our diet, but only a few would succeed."

"Like Laurent," Bella murmurs.

I shrug. "It's hard to say how committed he might've become." I almost add that the extensive intelligence he reported to Victoria implies the attachment he felt towards Irina was limited, but I feel sorry for my grieving cousin, so I hold my tongue. (Are all the sisters fated to fall in love with indifferent men? I don't want to think of it as _karma_ , payback for all the men who've fallen in love with them over the centuries, but the parallel is surprisingly apt.)

"Yeah," Paul says sarcastically. "The red eyes didn't tell us anything."

I incline my head to acknowledge the point. "It was probably a game to him," I concede. "He was genuinely curious when he met us, compared with the usual bemusement, but that doesn't mean he was any more likely to appreciate a vegetarian diet."

Kim wonders what makes our eyes a different colour, so I explain our theory that animal blood accumulates less densely in the iris, which dilutes the colour. We're all glad to focus on a much happier aspect, and it provides a nice entry to a fuller account of my own personal experience as we walk down to the hot spring for another soak before dinner.

We all agree to build a bonfire tonight; apparently flame-cooked fish tastes far superior to gas-cooked, and Seth is keen to make s'mores. While the others build the bonfire, using a veritable mountain of kindling and then stacking the drier wood around it to make two pyramids, one inside the other, I collect some thick logs that will feed the fire for several hours. I can't help showing off by splitting up the wood to get at the drier internal wood using only the edge of my hand.

Thanks to everyone's careful preparation, the fire soon roars into life. When it starts to crackle, though, Seth suddenly worries about me.

"I'm not as flammable as you might think," I assure him, amused by his imaginings of a little spark erupting out of the fire and exploding into life the instant it touches my exposed foot or my hair.

"Oh?"

"Yes, venom is flammable, but our bodies are immune to fire unless they're damaged—even our hair is safe. But if the fire can get inside us, it can burn hot enough to turn everything to ash."

 _Burned from the inside out_ , he thinks, shuddering, while Jared and Paul remember the way Victoria's body had collapsed in on itself.

I nod in agreement with all three of them.

Once the fire is bedded in, they wrap the whole fish in foil, including slices of lemon and a few herbs, and then set the parcels on the fire, carefully selecting areas that will cook the fish evenly. While they watch and wait, Rachel wonders what I mean by _hot enough_ , remembering me carrying hot dishes straight out of the oven. "High temperatures don't hurt you, though, do they?"

"Only from about fifty thousand degrees. We can tolerate cold all the way down to absolute zero, but being hit by lightning would definitely hurt. Fire is a little different—if it gets inside, it doesn't need to get anywhere near that hot. Eight thousand degrees would be more than enough."

"Could you go into space," Bella asks thoughtfully, "or would the pressure be too much?"

"Into space, down to the bottom of the deepest ocean, through the centre of Earth…"

"Wow," she murmurs, voicing what everyone else is thinking.

I nod. "No food down there, though," I joke, "so I doubt any vampire has ever gone that deep." When Bella opens her mouth, I think I can guess what she's thinking. "Esme forbade Emmett and Jasper long ago."

She laughs. "How deep have they gone?"

"Only to the Mariana Trench in the Pacific Ocean, which is almost seven miles deep. We've all gone there at one time or another. It's quite the experience—like the power of the whole ocean is vibrating through your body."

"Is it dark there?" Seth asks, thinking of my visual acuity.

"Dark- _er_. Like being in a dense forest."

"Cool," he murmurs, wishing his body could withstand the pressure so he could explore the deep ocean floor with Bella and me (because he knows Bella will want to go there).

"You could probably go a decent depth," I offer. "Deep enough for it to feel like a whole new planet."

"Let's do it," he enthuses.

Bella grins when he quirks an eyebrow at her. "I'm in," she agrees.

"There are much nicer places to go when you aren't focused on going as deep as possible," I tell them. "Mariana Trench is noisy. Beneath the sea ice in the Antarctic is much quieter."

"I don't think I could deal with that sort of cold," Seth replies, requesting that I think of an alternative.

"You don't know until you try," I tease. "We could visit the Arctic, see how you feel, before we go so far south?"

Seth agrees—as long as I make s'mores for him. So they scoff down their fish and then we spend practically the rest of the night roasting marshmallows for the weird chocolate-and-graham-cracker treats. The wolves consume over a dozen each, but the girls also eat many more than I expect, enjoying the sticky, chocolaty, crunchy sugar. They don't believe me when I say I don't envy their taste buds. (I may be besieged by cravings for blood, but human food cravings seem equally self-destructive more often than not!)

I'm not surprised that the wolves' agelessness is still on Bella's mind, even after the full day we've had, even after everything else we've discussed, but it saddens me when she starts talking about it in her sleep.

"Am I the only one who has to get _old_? " she complains.

I am torn between amusement and fear that she'll hasten the change for that reason alone, even though she won't look much different at 25 compared to 20 (she has a youthful face that means, like me and Alice, she'll be asked for ID for the rest of her days).

The amusement wins when she adds, "We're _running_ home."

I don't know if she'll make that demand when conscious, but the others are bound to be agreeable. Two of the five are currently thinking along similar lines themselves: Rachel is riding through the forest on wolfback in her dream, and Jared is dreaming about galloping along First Beach with Kim on his back.

Seth's dream is by far the most complicated of the five (Paul's is purely sexual, while Kim's is almost meditative in its focus on the multi-layered forest, from the towering canopy trees to the petite, intricate mosses). Seth has built an entire theme park of everything he finds most fun; right now, he is swimming in an enormous pool. He is able to hold his breath for what seems to him to be a long time and to swim the length of the pool underwater without fighting against his own body's buoyancy. There's a sandy beach complete with pirate ship at one end, and an underwater cavern at the other. It isn't until he is a few metres from the cave end that he sees a massive shark directly below him. He is understandably surprised, but feels no fear. At first, he thinks it's a robot—part of the park—but even after realising it isn't, he still isn't afraid of the enormous predator. He does start swimming more slowly so as to avoid drawing its attention, but that's more for the shark's sake than his own.

When he wakes up a few minutes later, he feels a lingering sense of wonder at being so close to the massive creature. As he wakes more fully, he is amused that something that could have been very scary—he's had dreams about running late for school that were much scarier, ones that even woke him up with a fright—didn't cause any feelings of anxiety.

 _Edward?_ , he thinks.

"Yes?" I answer softly, just loud enough for him to hear without straining.

 _The world is a much scarier place than I ever knew, but I'm not afraid—because of you_.

"I can't take all the credit," I reply. "You've never been afraid of anything."

He smiles. _Maybe I always knew what I was going to be, deep down_.

"I like the sound of that," I murmur. He is certainly wise enough—and then another thought hits me: that truth could apply to Bella, too. She isn't afraid because she's meant to be a vampire… It is an appealing thought, but one that sounds too good to be true. And then Seth thinks of it, too, and I dare to hope that we're right.

 _Bella will be better than you_ , he teases. _And she'll be able to see Charlie—she won't have to fake her death_.

"I hope so," I murmur. "But that puts Charlie at risk."

 _From the Volturi? Why? We won't tell Charlie what you are, and he'd never think_ vampire.

"Bella's mother will," I confess, forlorn. "She already jokes to herself that we're all pale enough to be vampires."

 _She hasn't said anything?_

"No; she knows Bella would be mortified." (And she thinks that our condition could have added inspiration to the vampire "myths" fashioned by the violent symptoms of rabies—humans' current favourite "explanation".)

 _Have you told Bella?_

"No. But she knows her mother."

 _That makes it harder_ , he thinks sadly, imaging Bella having to lie and evade her mother every time she tries to organise a normal family gathering—and we'll have to lie to Charlie, too, about why Renée can't join us or host us, especially when we have more than enough money to fly the breadth of America whenever we want.

"Yes," I agree heavily. "That's half the reason I want her to wait." Because she'll never be able to see her beloved mother again…

 _Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could have backed your play ages ago_.

"I like that you don't care how soon she changes—and so does she."

He grins. _That's because you're wrong about the other half._ You _haven't missed out on anything, and she won't either._

" _I_ didn't have anything to miss out on—she does."

 _Isn't she missing out right now?_ , he prods gently.

"If she _is_ , it's all things that can wait—but she _will_ miss her humanity if she rushes into it."

 _I doubt it. Have you talked to Bella?_

"Not exactly." He knows what that means—that she disagrees with me. "If I could just show her we _are_ equal, maybe she'll be happier to wait."

 _How do you plan on doing that?_

"I was hoping you might have an idea."

He snorts softly, smothering his laughter so it doesn't wake anyone. _Sorry, Edward. She wants to be what you are, so that neither of you has to compromise_.

"Rachel wishes she were a wolf," I say, even though I feel guilty about betraying her confidence.

 _Of course she does—we're awesome. If all it took was Paul biting her—well, she'd already be a wolf a hundred times over, but that's not the point—_

"Please don't think about that."

 _I know, I know! My point is, Rachel would be as impatient as Bella._

"She wouldn't have to give up anything."

 _Rebecca doesn't know_ , he reminds me. _Rachel would have to lie to her twin_.

"She already lies to her; it wouldn't be that different."

 _Shut up and let me convince you_.

"Sorry," I joke.

 _Are you convinced?_

"I'd be more convinced if you could help me show Bella we already have an equal relationship."

 _Let me think about it_ , he replies, yawning. _I'll sleep on it_ , he decides.

"Sweet dreams," I murmur.

His thoughts are already slipping into a torpor, so his response is halfway between an affirmative and a joke, the gist of which being that he wants _fun_ dreams, not _sweet_ ones.

But as I watch Bella grow in confidence before my very eyes, my wish for her extended humanity doesn't feel so hopeless. She seems a lot less apprehensive about the spectacle of the wedding, and she even jokes about diamond tiaras and horse-drawn carriages when the girls ask how our wedding plans are progressing.

After Rachel describes _her_ ideal wedding, Paul feels he only has one option—to ask me if I'll fund it. I don't know what to say; he's only partly joking—Swarovski crystals _are_ expensive—and I would be comfortable paying if they wouldn't feel awkward about accepting it.

"Bella and I could make a contribution towards the honeymoon," I suggest instead; that is a far more appropriate wedding gift.

"A _substantial_ contribution?" Paul asks hopefully, wondering just how much flying first class to London would cost.

Rachel elbows him. "Don't be rude."

"It's all right, Rachel," I reply. "If a monetary contribution would be most useful for you, we're happy to oblige—writing a cheque is easy."

"How easy?" Jared teases, thinking about the approximately $900 worth of car repairs he has coming up.

"Hey," Seth objects. "All non-wedding-gift-related requests have to go through _me_."

"He spoils you plenty," Jared retorts. "What else do you need?"

"A private jet," he shoots back, making everyone laugh.

"Why don't _you_ have a private jet?" Rachel asks me, briefly sidetracked.

"Cars are far less conspicuous," I reply, chuckling at the idea.

"Can you fly?" Jared asks.

"Theoretically, yes; I know how most planes work and what their controls look like."

Jared considers asking if I studied planes before meeting Bella, but Rachel gets in first. "Are you strong enough to turn coal into diamond?" she asks hopefully.

I have to laugh. "Coal and diamond are both carbon, but no one could turn _coal_ into diamond—there are too many other elements in it."

"Graphite, then," she replies, getting it.

"Graphite can become diamond, but I'm afraid I couldn't do it. The process involves a lot more than applying pressure."

 _Bummer_ , she thinks, wistfully picturing me squeezing a pencil lead into a beautiful diamond for her.

Technically, I could dig through the earth to find one—with Alice's assistance, I'd only have to do it once—but it would be considerably easier just to buy her one, so I don't make the offer.

After a day of fish yesterday, they all agree on venison as today's meat of choice. The wolves are happy for me to join them, but we quickly agree that I stay with the girls—we know how dangerous the forest can be to feel safe leaving them unprotected for even half an hour.

While the boys hunt, the girls and I rebuild the bonfire. We widen our circle to accommodate a larger fire, and then I meet the wolves at the carcass and carve it up before carrying the cuts of meat back to camp. The wolves might have had several helpings of raw venison since becoming wolves, but their human preferences are still normal, so none of them partake of the raw meat when flame-cooked is on the menu. They devour a leg and half a ribcage each, leaving the choicest cuts—the backstrap and rump—for the girls, and then Paul and Jared haggle over the remaining leg and ribs while Seth and the girls start on dessert.

Over the succeeding days, we explore one breathtaking spot after another. As we share this beautiful wilderness, we share a great many things about ourselves. Among dozens of random topics, I do my best to describe what it's like having a perfect memory; I explain how my family and I appropriate the necessary documentation to build our cover (they're shocked _and_ intrigued by the idea of us hacking federal databases, and it sets off a related question about what I think of the technological advances of the last 100 years); and I tell stories from the various schools and colleges I've studied at (which amazes them that I've managed to bear it). The wolves describe their eventual plans for succession within the pack, and Kim and Rachel admit the guilt they feel at the sacrifice Jared and Paul will have to make in order to grow old with them, which is more cathartic than it sounds because it leads to everyone realising that they feel blessed to be part of this supernatural world, not cursed.

The trip is an epic success. The seven of us learn so much about each other and ourselves, and all three girls grow in confidence in ways that none of us expected. We're all happy to go home, but we'll always treasure this carefree time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten: Bachelor**

After a week of utter freedom and relaxation, returning to Forks is jarring. Even its comparatively small population feels like an assault on my senses, and the hum of electricity and machines is a constant irritation that scratches at my sense of tranquillity and lets old worries slip back through. It doesn't help that Bella and I are once again the centre of attention: the countdown to the wedding has already begun (despite it still being over a month away).

Rumours are rife about the size and occupancy of the guest list. (Some are amusing—Lauren instigated one that nobody from Forks will be invited, no doubt in the hope of turning the town against us, and the conversations around that are hilariously stupid.) Carlisle is fielding daily questions at the hospital. The fruit cake is being baked. The bespoke seating is being built. Esme is busy ordering flowers. Alice is organising suits for Charlie and Phil, and Renée's entire outfit (including the dress, shoes, and fascinator). Jasper is cleaning and prepping the large fossils he and the others collected for table decorations, as well as small ones as keepsakes for each guest. Rosalie is practising her part on the piano. Emmett is thinking up "tips" for me for the wedding night. And Renée has a new question for Bella and/or me every few hours.

Even Charlie starts demanding attention, though not for wedding-related matters—which provides a welcome relief! Because Bella won't be living with him when we get back from our honeymoon, he is positively _eager_ to spend time with her now. We accommodate him as much as possible, sharing camp stories, wedding updates, and college plans, and he makes a concerted effort to reciprocate, sharing stories from his life that Bella has never heard before. We even go fishing with him in the weekends. I draw the line when Jacob tags along, though—Charlie's friendliness towards him still grates too much—so I put on a brave face and tell Bella I'll help Seth with his mural or go hiking with Carlisle and Esme while she spends time with her father and her (insert insult here) friend.

Bella and I also continue to aid Esme with her knitting project, and then she decides she'd like to come with us into the mountains, too. She isn't interested in _hiking_ , though, so I piggyback her while the three of us scale heights that none of us expected Bella to find enjoyable while human.

Carlisle is already excited about my increased immunity to human blood, so when Bella raises the subject, he gets quite carried away. Between the two of them, they have me signing up for another medical degree—this time, to put into practice myself—at our next foray into academia (for which Bella gladly suggests Dartmouth).

Alice enjoys seeing more of me through her visions, but she also sets aside wedding matters to spend time with us. She has learned to see around her blind spots—to look ahead and find us all somewhere, as long as we make plans before Seth joins us—so Seth starts visiting our side of the border more often. Alice's inclusion draws Jasper in, too, although he maintains a self-enforced 'minimum safe distance' between himself and Bella at all times. His scarred appearance still intrigues Seth—he thinks it looks as though every vampire in the world has tried to kill him—and Jasper enjoys Seth's cheerfulness. He even likes Seth's earthy scent; it reminds him of the horses he can no longer be around.

As much as Alice likes her new friend, however, she is still protective of the wedding date. To give her a bit more time before his and the other wolves' attendance blinds her, we delay sending out the wedding invitations until there are five weeks to go. Bella uses the time to pose one argument after another as to why we shouldn't invite the Denali clan. Though I know her reluctance has nothing to do with our troubled relationship following Laurent's death or her worries on behalf of the pack, I engage in each discussion until she finally admits she'd rather not have _beauteous_ Tanya there. I use the opportunity to gently express my objection to inviting Jacob, so she finally relents—which means neither of us feels comfortable with the guest list and we both feel bad for the other.

The invitations themselves are, thankfully, much less fraught. Alice prepares a few options for Bella and me to approve, but we easily identify our favourite: a square, sandstone-coloured envelope containing two cream-coloured cards tied loosely together in the top left-hand corner with a simple piece of chocolate-coloured ribbon. (One of the options is a fussy thing with layer upon layer of see-through, glittering, petal-printed pages that represents Alice giving free rein to her 'fairy godmother' persona—she showed it to us, despite knowing that Bella will hate it, in order to expose her to something "au courant".)

The top card is the invitation, giving our names, the date, and the location. The writing is in gold leaf, but Bella actually admits to liking it.

The bottom card is the note regarding wedding gifts, which reads:

 _If you would like to gift us with more than your presence, please consider donating to one of these charities on our behalf:_

 _Amazon Conservation Team_

 _Book Aid International_

 _The Conservation Fund_

 _Foundation for the National Institutes of Health_

 _HealthCare Volunteer_

 _I Have a Dream Foundation_

 _Operation Smile_

 _Plan International USA_

 _United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund_

 _Wildlife Conservation Network_

 _—so we can share our joy with the world!_

Bella is immediately concerned about the introduction. "I don't want anyone who can't come to feel bad!"

"Bella," Alice says patiently, "it's a play on words. No one is going to feel bad about not coming because of _that_."

"It does accompany an invitation," I point out. "I'm okay with it."

"It sounds silly," Bella grumbles.

"What would you replace it with?"

She pouts. "I don't know—can't _you_ think of something less clichéd?"

" _Embrace_ the cliché," Alice urges. "It's a wedding invitation."

"Gold leaf is my limit," Bella shoots back, but she is mostly teasing so Alice is confident she can win her over.

"People _like_ giving gifts at weddings," she cajoles. "If you want them to donate to charity rather than giving you a personal gift, you need to word it in a way that feels personal."

Bella frowns and her nose wrinkles adorably. " _That_ will make it feel personal?"

" _Yes_ ," Alice promises decisively, earning a chuckle from her soon-to-be sister.

Before agreeing, Bella fixes her gaze on me. "You're happy with it?" When I nod, she sighs, then slips the invitation back into the envelope before pulling it out again and looking at it as if for the first time. "I am, too," she concedes with a wry smile that quickly turns cheeky. "I think that other one turned my sense of humour off."

Alice huffs (she and I both know Bella is referring to _Alice's_ favourite option), but achieving our agreement on the invitation assuages her disappointment—as does picturing Bella in the bridesmaid's dress she has promised (sight unseen) to wear at Alice's next wedding: a full-length, body-hugging, strapless, backless, silk gown that looks _incredible_.

We hand-deliver the invitations for our Quileute friends. Jacob refuses his, so Bella gives it to him verbally and he isn't quite angry enough to run away (though he shudders several times). The moment the wolves learn of the date, Alice's vision of the whole event vanishes. She is understandably grumpy about it (and disappointed that her limitation is still so rigid), but it does help her in avoiding spoiling the day for me, so she makes her peace with it. Personally, though, I dearly wish that she could see what Jacob will do. I've heard too many of his fantasies about winning back "his" girl in the middle of the ceremony to feel at all happy about the very real chance that he'll be there. Although any fear of such a thing coming to pass is long gone, I'd hate for him to interrupt our ceremony.

Bella says his name in her sleep almost every night—if she says anything else, it's usually trying to convince him to come to the wedding or debating why he should or shouldn't come—but it's reassuring that she doesn't sound half as upset as she used to. Even though Jacob still hasn't come to terms with her choice, she seems to be feeling more settled about the state of their friendship. It doesn't make it any easier when she spends time with him—whether with me or without me—but it does ease my worries about his capacity to hurt her. (Until he decides he can't take it anymore and bails on everyone; then Bella spends that night so close to tears that an animated dog in a cell-phone commercial is enough to set her off.)

Even after Jacob's departure, there are still so many people with whom Bella and I want to spend our last summer in Forks that it becomes normal for the only time we get to ourselves to be in bed—but Bella more than makes up for any time apart or a lack of opportunities for intimacy while the sun is up. And we make a point of escaping to our meadow at least once a week, when we can lounge in the sun among the flowers. When we're not focused on each other, Bella usually reads classic and historical romance novels, while my preferred 'genre' is scientific papers (Bella enjoys calling me a snob just as much as she enjoys the choice snippets I share with her). I also keep up my regular drawing practice; when we're alone, Bella usually requests landscapes and I tease her that if I could read her mind, I could recreate images from her memories—to which she responds by describing scenes for me to draw and then "correcting" my sketch as I work.

The moment Alice sees Bella's truck die, I start planning ahead. Through various contacts, I arrange for a year's hire (it feels like I'd be jinxing it if I booked a longer timeframe) of a Mercedes Guardian, an armoured car strong enough to thwart even a rampaging vampire for a few moments. When it arrives, I'm too excited to wait. Bella is less than impressed by the news of the Chevy's impending demise, so she refuses to accept the new car early, but I appreciate that she stops short of asking whether or not her truck's death is provoked by external sources (because I haven't imagined punching the pistons out of it for months), and I _really_ appreciate her promise that she won't drive it without me.

Even though things have been quiet, as the wedding draws near, I feel a renewed sense of dread. Now that we are looking forward to being together forever, I have a bad feeling that something will come along to ruin our plans. It's not fear that Jacob or anyone else might steal her heart away from me, though, so maybe it's Bella's own, understandable anxiety affecting me.

Renée has always figured regularly in Bella's sleep-talking, but after my warning about her truck's imminent death, the dynamic changes completely and Bella starts spouting excuses for why we can't visit. She is clearly dreaming of the unavoidable sacrifice in her future, even if everything goes smoothly. I think it can't get any worse than that, until a few nights later when she suddenly starts begging her mother not to be afraid of her. I can't help picturing the horrifying scene for myself; if Renée ever found out that we're vampires, she would be utterly terrified of us.

When Bella starts awake with a soft, pained cry, I push the blanket aside and pull her properly into my arms. "She won't find out," I murmur—the only promise I feel secure in making in this awful matter.

Bella gasps in a breath and then starts sobbing into my chest. "Sorry," she mumbles, clearly trying to contain her tears.

" _I'm_ sorry," I reply. "If I could, I would be crying right along with you."

She sniffles and then chuckles softly. "You'd still look perfect," she jokes, explaining the incongruous amusement.

"No amount of tears or anything else could change how _I_ see _you_ ," I murmur, avoiding a straight reply in the hope of avoiding a straight rebuff.

"What about if I threw up on you?" she challenges, a little smirk tugging at her lips.

I grimace internally at the innumerable hazards that could cause said vomiting, but manage to shape my lips into a grin. "The contents of your stomach don't scare me."

She gives a little chuckle and then grabs a tissue to blow her nose. After a moment of quiet reflection, she murmurs, "What are we going to tell them?"

"You can always blame _me_ ," I suggest, making a joke because I don't want to have this conversation in the middle of the night.

"I _will_ ," she threatens, slumping back onto my chest. Her fingers caress me idly for a moment before she comes up with a response—one that takes me by surprise. "Sex addiction is a recognised illness."

I laugh, because she has no idea how true that excuse could turn out to be. "It took ten years for Rosalie and Emmett to control themselves."

"Ten _years_?"

"Ten whole years," I confirm (while trying not to think about their thoughts from those years in any detail).

She doesn't speak for a long minute; I've just started to think she's settling back into sleep when she murmurs happily, "We'll be worse."

The weekend before our wedding, a week before my own bachelor party, Alice launches Bella's intimate bachelorette party with head-to-toe makeovers. I stand in my room listening to Bella endure Alice's manicure, which is made easier by Angela's enjoyment of her own manicure under Alice's insightful instruction. When they're all sporting stylish hairdos and elegant yet comfortable designer clothes (Bella is the slightly odd one out wearing trousers and flats), the three of them head to Seattle in the Volvo. They take the ferry for a bit of added novelty, while I run a more direct route, aiming for my destination just south of Seattle.

Alice's chosen jeweller is a quiet woman who lets her adornments do the talking for her: she sparkles from head to toe with gem-encrusted hairpins, earrings, necklaces, bangles, bracelets, rings, brooches, and high-heeled boots that are individually exquisite but collectively overpowering. Apart from her apparent need to be a walking catalogue, there's no doubting her taste. The wedding rings she has made for Bella and me are simple yet elegant; neither of us wanted gemstones, but she has still managed to add a touch of design to the plain gold bands by bevelling the edges ever so slightly.

The other items I am also here to collect—clip-on earrings and matching necklaces for Alice, Esme, and Rosalie—are very different in nature and yet not nearly as extravagant as I'd expected. Instead of their focus being on gems, it is on form; their loose twists of beautiful filigree curls look like physical manifestations of gentle breezes and are subtly accented with a few well-placed, point-cut diamonds for a subtly old-fashioned look. I'm hugely impressed by the skill involved, but even more impressed by Alice's restraint. And then the jeweller gives me a small box—"for your sister's _other_ order"—containing two bangles crafted in the same style (I suspect one is a present for Bella and the other a matching present for herself).

The woman tells me that she has enjoyed the work and hopes her creations are loved by their owners as much as she loves them. She also emphasises that the designs will be saved for us alone, so they are truly unique pieces. I thank her warmly and then pre-empt her offer to drop me off in the city by announcing my enthusiasm for the walk. She eyes my modest attire with reservation, but Alice's forward planning means that I have all the pocket space necessary to safely house the six boxes, so her concerns are quickly settled.

As I make my way into downtown Seattle to converge on the girls' location, I realise I haven't visited a large city for months. The sheer numbers of noisy, smelly vehicles and people and machines make me miss Forks. I can only hope I don't hear any thoughts exposing evil deeds—but that dread is forgotten when I happen upon an opportunity to save a pedestrian (and her dog) from serious injury.

The woman and dog are running along the footpath at the perfect speed to collide with a car that is about to pull out of an alleyway at reckless speed. I run around the corner to put myself in her way instead, so she bumps headlong into me and then three seconds later, as the frown is setting in on her face and her dog starts growling, the car screams out of the alleyway behind me. She gasps as she realises she would've been collected by that car if I hadn't run into her instead—and then she looks at me properly and her next thought is that I'm so gorgeous, I must be her guardian angel. Before she can voice the clichéd one-liner that's forming in her head, I mumble a quick apology and continue on my way, leaving her staring after me. Her dog is still growling, but he settles when she pats his flank distractedly. I smile to myself as her grateful thoughts follow me down the street, before a random thought strikes—I'm glad Bella isn't a 'pet' person, because there's no way a dog or cat, or any other cuddly critter, would tolerate my company!

I catch up with my bashful bachelorette while they're dining at Seattle's finest restaurant, where even Alice gets a kick out of the unusual textures and gastronomic combinations. Bella lets Angela and Alice lead the conversation, enjoying the five-course meal in comparative silence while her girlfriends chat about their own plans for the rest of the year—until Alice's plan to propose to Jasper renders Angela speechless. She already knows Alice is brave, but breaking tradition, given her very traditional upbringing, is always something that inspires particular awe (when it's a positive thing, as in this case).

Bella simply shakes her head when Alice goes on to express her desire to be married in a French castle, but Angela thinks it sounds very romantic. She knows she'll be expected to get married in her father's church, and she is fine with that, but there's something about getting married in a medieval French castle that fires her imagination. Between her and Alice, they manage to win a couple of concessions from my down-to-earth bride—helped along by the restaurant's signature dry-ice cocktail.

After dinner, they head straight to the archery range to spend the evening shooting arrows at various targets. Despite her usual lack of coordination, Bella picks it up quickly. She seems mystified when she scores a bullseye on only her seventh attempt, but I think it's because she has a good eye and, in this scenario, she is able to take her time, so clumsiness isn't an issue.

The instructor is justifiably impressed. "You have a good eye," he tells her, stealing _my_ line.

"The bow practically shoots itself," she replies, downplaying her skill, and he lets it go, recognising her self-consciousness.

Alice positions her ability well above average but below Bella's, while Angela achieves an average level of success. She is still happy about it, though, and she feels the same rush from firing the powerful bow whether she hits the target or the wall behind it.

The three of them have a brilliant night, and they don't make it to the hotel until almost 11 p.m. The suite is so luxurious that Angela and Bella are more than happy to relax there, despite Alice detailing the hotel's many facilities (including a full-service spa and an enormous, heated swimming pool that she has arranged to be available exclusively to them throughout the night).

Even though Alice didn't let me tell Bella that I will be spending the night, Bella suggests visiting the spa and pool in the morning and heads to bed at midnight. The other two retire to their respective rooms as well; Angela throws off her dress and snuggles into the silky-soft sheets, while Alice snatches up the jewellery boxes I left on her bed with joyful enthusiasm and rushes to don hers.

Bella starts when she sees me sitting on her bed, but then her eyes light up and she runs to me.

"Edward!" she whispers joyously. "How long have you been here?"

"About five minutes before you arrived."

She chuckles, then eyes me speculatively. "You followed us?"

"Yes and no—Alice sent me to get the rings. I caught up at the restaurant. I'm glad I got to see you at the archery range. You shot like a pro."

Bella flushes at the praise, and I press my lips to her nearest cheek. "Alice should've beaten me," she says dismissively.

"Alice has several significant advantages," I remind her.

She hums airily. "Stop talking," she murmurs, capturing my all-too-willing lips with hers.

After a few minutes, she pulls back so she can take the last few pins out of her hair. "I've been made up and manicured to within an inch of my life," she declares, waving her gleaming nails at me.

"Very nice," I agree, but I mustn't sound sufficiently engaged because she laughs.

"You hadn't even noticed, had you?"

"I saw Alice doing it," I reply, hoping to disguise my lack of interest; so it catches me off guard when her face immediately falls. "What's wrong?"

"You got to spend the day with me, but I didn't get to spend it with you."

"I still missed you," I murmur, and she smiles tenderly, appeased.

"You're here now," she murmurs, stroking my cheek.

She drops the pins onto the bedside table, then grabs her bag of toiletries and the pyjamas I placed on top and dashes into the en suite. When she returns, I watch her climb onto the bed, enjoying the predatory look in her eyes as she 'stalks' me. I wait for her to take my face in her hands before raising my lips to meet hers.

After a placing a gentle, teasingly sweet kiss on my lips, she tightens her grip on my jaw and pulls herself into my lap.

"It's late…"

" _Shush_ ," she admonishes. "We aren't sitting on the biggest bed I've ever seen for nothing."

I chuckle. "It _is_ massive," I agree, letting her push me backwards onto the bed.

The first thing she does is untuck my shirt and slide her hands underneath. We both groan at the pleasurable caress, and I find myself undoing the buttons to give her hands free rein.

"It's warm in here," she murmurs, sitting up and shifting her focus to her own clothing.

"Not _that_ warm," I counter, catching her hands and pulling them back to my chest.

She surrenders with a sigh that turns into a moan as she presses her fingers into my granite flesh. I raise my head to join our lips once more, revelling in her freshly passionate kisses for a minute before shifting my mouth to her throat to give her lips a brief reprieve from my coldness. She hums in pleasure and grabs a fistful of my hair as she presses her neck into my lips.

I work my way slowly down to her clavicle, following the line of flesh that yields the greatest response from my enthusiastic lover, but as I'm working my way back up to her lips, she pulls away, ducks down, and wraps her tongue around my left nipple. I let out a strangled moan, shocked and intensely aroused by the feel of her hot mouth on that sensitive nub. My hips twitch on their own, and she grinds herself against me, chuckling wickedly at this power she has over my wanton body.

Knowing she'll say it's important practice if I try to stop her, I let her thrust herself against me—no matter how hard it is not to push back with equal power and press my way inside her. I'm almost glad that Alice is less than 15 yards away, alternating between teasing me and trying to focus on future visions of her own, because my self-control has never felt so close to breaking.

For that reason, when Bella grabs at my belt buckle, I have to stop her.

"Not tonight," I gasp.

She pouts for a moment, clearly preparing to argue—the unmistakeable glint of mischief in her eyes stirs my curiosity—before a sudden blush blossoms on her cheeks. "Oh," she mouths. " _Alice_."

" _Hmmm_ ," I agree, letting that reason take precedence.

She sighs heavily, her pulse already slowing, and then drapes herself across me. I hum her lullaby softly, hoping to soothe us both, and she falls asleep in 14 seconds. I don't stop humming, though; it takes a good hour to calm the passions raging through my undead form—with Bella's powerful heartbeat thundering through me, I could swear my own heart had been brought back to life by the power of our love.

In the morning, I sneak out while Angela is getting dressed, and then listen as they order room service for breakfast. After what looks like an enjoyable meal of pastries and fruit, they head to the spa. I'm relieved when Bella chooses the shortest, simplest massage, leaving the overly friendly masseuse to pamper Angela, and then she and Alice frolic in the pool for half an hour. I wish I could join them, but I don't begrudge Alice some one-on-one time with Bella, especially when I can listen in.

When it comes time to head home to Forks, Alice pulls out the big surprise—two tickets to Jacksonville. Bella is stunned.

"We've got everything sorted for the wedding," Alice says, "so go spend a few days with Renée. Edward will meet you at the airport."

Forgoing a verbal response, Bella hugs her tightly. Her smile falters slightly when she glances at Angela, perhaps because she's going to be ditching her friend in Seattle, but Angela's joyous smile seems to reassure her that she'll be okay on her own with Alice.

I start walking while they wait for a valet to bring out their car, knowing I'll need a head start if I want to keep within hearing distance of Alice's thoughts as she drives Bella to the airport. There are many potential human and electronic witnesses along all routes, so I have to moderate my speed more often than not. My attire isn't exactly what one might wear when running, so a brisk walk is all I can stretch to—and I also have to watch out for patches of sun and light reflections as the cloud cover starts to break up. Thankfully, Alice takes a "scenic" route that means I never lose track of her thoughts, and she also keeps me one step ahead of the sun—sometimes literally—so I make it to the airport without incident.

Alice pulls into the drop-off zone half a minute later. She presents Bella with a brand-new suitcase containing everything the two of us will need in Jacksonville, and then ushers her towards the check-in area. "See you in four days," she enthuses. "Get plenty of sleep, and don't get sunburnt!"

Bella chuckles, promises to be responsible, and then waves as they drive off. I wait until Angela turns away before exiting the building, so I don't quite reach Bella's side before she turns to go inside, but she sees me as soon as she looks round and bursts into a wide smile.

We embrace for a moment, and then Bella fixes her eyes on me. "You'll be okay in Jacksonville?" she asks sharply, letting me see her anxiety.

"Of course," I agree confidently. "While you spend time with Renée, I'll stay inside writing that paper for my philosophy course—remember?"

She purses her lips. "That excuse will work?"

"Alice has shown me all the tricks," I promise, wrapping my arm around her waist and deftly slipping the suitcase handle from her hand into mine.

She lets me steer her inside, and her cheerfulness returns as soon as she realises that our plane leaves in approximately quarter of an hour, so we'll be arriving in Jacksonville in less than eight hours (and under cover of darkness).

As it turns out, I barely need the excuse of work to avoid the sun. Renée thinks I must burn easily because of my 'skin condition', so she isn't surprised that I favour indoor activities and excuse myself whenever she and Bella sunbathe. But the real reason she doesn't question it is that she enjoys the time alone with her daughter, and she thinks the sun is one of the few things able to distract Bella from her ongoing need to be within arm's length of me at all times.

Phil has a run of games Tuesday to Thursday, so we stay in Jacksonville until Thursday afternoon; then the four of us fly back to Forks to spend Friday and Saturday with our combined family.

Despite my eagerness to make Bella my wife, the night before our wedding arrives before I'm ready, and I'm torn between gratitude for Alice's clever planning and irritation at my bachelor party being scheduled for tonight. The thought of leaving Bella alone for a whole night—let alone the night before our wedding—fills me with discontent. I don't want to be apart for a minute let alone _21 hours_. But my brothers assert their sense of duty and I trust Alice to watch over her as diligently as I would… though, truthfully, I only agreed to it in the first place after Alice promised to stand guard outside the house all night (and Seth's assurance that Jacob is hundreds of miles away is equally helpful).

As the scheduled time of my departure approaches, Bella and I make every second count. We wrap her up in the thick afghan and then I shed my shirt before curling up with her on the small bed. But once there, Bella is unexpectedly quieter than usual.

She runs her hands slowly across my bare chest as though she's touching me for the first time… Her touch is as thrilling as always, teasingly light and brilliantly warm and pulsing with life, but I know she's thinking about tomorrow night, as I am. The proverbial butterflies in my stomach are already working overtime, so I can only imagine how she's feeling. Her heart is relatively steady, though, so her courage isn't in any doubt.

After a minute, she strokes a finger across my lips. "You're quiet tonight."

"So are you."

That makes her laugh, but even that has more of a thoughtful tone than usual. "Your brothers will be here soon," she murmurs, but I think that's just the easy answer.

"I don't have to go…"

"Yes, you do. It's your bachelor party."

While I'm still deciding whether to accept that or make a counter argument, she leans forwards and touches her lips to mine. The kiss is gentle— _my_ kind of gentle—but I shudder at the powerful need I feel, part excited, part afraid, as I anticipate _and_ dread tomorrow night, when we will be husband and wife.

My excitement wins as I think of Bella becoming my wife. I wind my arms around her, unable to resist encouraging her to press herself against me. The tip of her tongue caresses my bottom lip, and I sigh, enjoying her warmth—but not her incredible fragility.

I let her caress my lips with her tongue for as long as I can before my nerves get the best of me and I have to stop. I have to make her understand the danger she's in.

"Bella," I groan. "It's so hard to concentrate when you're with me like this. I can't think straight. You'll get hurt."

"Edward," she replies, taking my face in her hands. "You won't hurt me. You haven't hurt me yet, and haven't we pretty much covered everything?"

"Not _everything_."

Her lips twitch with wicked amusement, but there's sympathy in her eyes. "Trust yourself. Trust _me_."

"I _do_ trust you. It's just—" I lose track of my point as my brothers' taunting thoughts sound in my mind; my traitorous sister told them to come get me.  "Oh, for the love of all that's holy!"

"What's wrong?"

"You don't have to call my brothers. They're not going to let me bow out."

She chuckles. "Was that ever in doubt?"

"I was hoping they might respect my wishes…"

"I hope you put that optimism to better use tomorrow night," she teases.

I don't know what to say, so I kiss her instead. She chuckles, aware that I'm deflecting the focus but willing to indulge me.

Emmett interrupts within a minute, reaching the house ahead of Jasper. He leaps up to the window and scrapes his nails across the glass, making Bella shudder.

"If you don't send Edward out," he hisses menacingly, "we're coming in after him!"

"Go," she says, laughing. " _Before_ they break my house."

I am no more inclined to leave, but she is absolutely right about Emmett's intentions; I can't help rolling my eyes at his clichéd threats. I slide out of bed, trying not to think about the next time Bella and I will be in bed together— _sleeping together_ in the literal slang sense—and put my shirt back on. Before I leave, I lean down and kiss her forehead.

"Sweet dreams," I murmur, hoping she'll be able to sleep without me (the last time she slept alone for more than an hour was before I came back, and I've heard every memory Jacob has of Charlie lamenting Bella's nightly screaming fits). "I love you so much."

"I love you, too. Have fun."

Forgoing a verbal response, I give her another kiss, before launching myself out the window. Thanks to my extra sense, I catch Emmett off guard, knocking him off the side of the house. We land in a heap—though more of him is on the bottom of the pile—and he curses softly.

"You'd better not make him late," Bella murmurs before they can race off with me.

Jasper feels her underlying tension. He jumps up to the window, and says, "Don't worry, Bella. We'll get him home in plenty of time."

He uses his gift to soothe her and I am caught up in it, too. Our nerves are groundless. Tomorrow will be perfect. I enjoy feeling Bella's contentment. But then suddenly, just as Jasper is preparing to drop back to the ground, a spike of unease cuts through his carefully cultivated serenity—somehow, she has managed to reject his emotional manipulation.

"Jasper?" she asks urgently. "What do vampires do for bachelor parties? You're not taking him to a strip club, are you?"

Her bizarrely ordinary concern amuses me, distracting me from my curiosity at the ease at which she countered Jasper's pervasive energy.

"Don't tell her anything!" Emmett growls. I can't have that; I catch him off balance and we grapple for a moment before I slip out of his grasp, laughing at his plans for retaliation.

"Relax," Jasper tells Bella—unleashing the full force of his power, calming her instantly. "We Cullens have our own version. Just a few mountain lions, a couple of grizzly bears. Pretty much an ordinary night out." _Except we'll have you for the_ whole _night_ , he tacks on the end to make sure I know what's expected of me.

"Thanks, Jasper," she murmurs; I can't tell if she is genuinely relieved or not, but Jasper isn't worried.

He winks at her and then leaps lightly to the ground.

Now that Emmett has his ally back and Alice is on her way (even better, she sees that Bella will be happy to see her, so she'll spend the night inside with her), I run. My brothers give chase, enthusiastically, and I have to focus all my attention on their thoughts to avoid sneak attacks—especially when Jasper, hyped up from manipulating Bella's emotions, starts trying to compel me into a state of euphoria.

We laugh and laugh, and despite what Jasper told Bella, we scare all the animals away for miles. We run all the way to Canada before managing to contain ourselves enough to hunt.

Emmett insists on hunting grizzly first, so we pass a number of deer before we find a bear to his liking; then he does the subduing and offers me the drink. Any other time, I would refuse—owing Emmett a favour is something I like to avoid, given his penchant for wild dares—but tonight I plan to stuff myself to prolong the time before I have to hunt again.

After consuming the blood of an entire grizzly bear, a mountain lion, seven deer, and a feral cat (Jasper's dare), I can almost feel the blood sloshing around inside me. Jasper and Emmett make a show of gazing into my eyes, marvelling at their buttery gold.

It's more than a little disturbing when Jasper starts using his gift to work me up a little while he thinks about Bella's deeply passionate nature and how that will translate to _exquisite_ sex. So I have no choice but to give in and let them ask what they will of me.

When I admit that I've never had an orgasm, they are dumbstruck. Emmett can't understand how it's possible, especially when he knows I've 'felt' several of his. He teases me about _nothing_ getting me going if hearing him and Rose go at it can't do it.

He and Jasper both agree that sex is a very great pleasure, second only to drinking human blood. Jasper laughs when that makes me nervous, and he wastes no time telling Emmett that I'm _scared_ of sex. But I know how incredible drinking Bella's blood was—base creature that I am, how can I control myself as much as Bella needs me to if sex is remotely comparable to that? And the fact that Alice has seen our lovemaking no longer comforts me; after paying more attention to her desires of late, I've realised she enjoys a bit of pain, and Bella is bound to talk down any and all injuries I inflict upon her.

When I admit my valid fears, they stop mocking and try to comfort me, but their perspectives weaken their advice. Emmett doesn't see anything wrong with the 'backup' plan—changing her—and as far as Jasper is concerned, I owe it to Bella to try, no matter the risk. A husband should do all in his power to pleasure his wife.

I threaten to ditch them when they both start thinking in lurid detail about pleasuring their own wives, but they aren't intimidated—they know Alice would find a dozen ways to punish me for running out on my party. But they do love me, so they come up with an alternative pastime that will be fun for all of us: swimming the Gulf of Alaska.

It is certainly fun, but the physical release is both enjoyable and a frightening reminder of just how different I am from Bella. In water as on land, I am the top predator. I am many times faster than the fastest shark and so much deadlier.

And yet our contest raises an interesting point: I am faster than Emmett and Jasper, though they are both stronger than I. Is my greater speed a consequence of greater control? Jasper feels the hope growing in me and cultivates it further, until it outweighs my nerves.

Dawn gives me an even greater boost. _I'm getting married today_. When I start smiling, I can't stop. Bella will be my wife in 13 hours.

My brothers laugh at me, but they're happy for me, too. When the three of us arrive home— _after_ 4 p.m., as per Alice's strict instructions—I am inundated by the emotions of the rest of my family. Esme and Carlisle are equally ecstatic, Alice is smug, and Rosalie is, astoundingly, moved by the romance of the occasion (although I probably have to credit Alice for that miracle).

What Alice has done with our house is a wonder all on its own. Somehow, she has captured the perfect balance between Edwardian and modern. Lights, flowers, and ribbons—all a brilliant white—adorn the trees and the house and everything in it, including the charming benched seating for our guests.

The floral scents infused throughout the house are an added special touch; the balance of orange blossom, lilac, freesia, and rose is perfect—like a concentrated version of Bella's scent were she a flower. I'm not allowed inside to experience the full impact of it yet, but I enjoy it through my family's thoughts.

When everything is ready outside, Carlisle and I position ourselves to greet the guests at the door as they arrive, Esme and Emmett prep the drinks and canapés, and Jasper puts the finishing touches on the table settings. Seth, Billy, and Sue are the first to arrive by almost 20 minutes (Seth had wanted to come even earlier, but Sue made him wait). Alice finally lets me go inside so I can give them a tour of the sumptuously decorated first floor and the outdoor dancing and dining area. We all give the appropriately delighted reactions to please Alice, and then Carlisle, Seth, and I return to the front door, while Billy indulges in the delicacies Alice has procured from far and wide, and Sue chats with Esme.

Without exception, our guests from Forks are eager for drama, but Alice's beautiful scene reads like a fairy tale, distracting even the most sensation-seeking of our school friends. The gorgeous flowers, divine fragrance, and ornate benches make them feel like they've stepped into a Disney palace, complete with sumptuous delights to satisfy all their senses.

When the Denali clan arrives (minus Irina), everyone is stunned by four new supermodels walking among them. Billy and Sue are understandably uneasy (Sue instinctively moves closer to hover behind her precious son), but Seth isn't bothered; he trusts me not to invite vicious monsters. He doesn't leave my side as they approach us, though he glances at me to check that I don't mind, so I smile and pat his shoulder.

" _You're_ my family, too," I tell him. Tanya and her family can either accept that or not, but I know they won't make a scene here. Even so, I would rather have Seth beside me than elsewhere; they have already recognised him as a member of the pack they view as killers.

 _Do_ they _know that?_ , Seth asks, remembering what I told him about Irina's grievance with the pack. I'm glad I didn't mention her desire for vengeance—there's no way Sue would have allowed Seth to be anywhere near them.

"They may not understand right now, but they soon will," I reply, hoping that it will be so.

They are understandably shocked, and bemused, by our conversation and the camaraderie between us—he is obviously speaking to me in thought, so he must know of my gift. An alliance between vampire and vampire-killer strikes them as unnatural and dangerous, though Carmen and Eleazar are more open to our unlikely friendship than Tanya and Kate, who are inclined to feel aggrieved on their sister's behalf.

Carlisle, Esme, and I greet them as family, but a little of our usual warmth is missing. We are all uncertain of each other, and although no one else notices anything amiss, the Quileutes see it. Seth finally feels a slight tingle of anxiety. While I'm glad he _can_ feel an awareness of danger, I wish he didn't have to in this situation, especially not on my wedding day.

I stay close to him, angling my body so that I am between him and them. Seth notices and wonders what they're thinking, so I give him a smile to reassure him that I'm just being cautious.

"This is Seth Clearwater," I say, before introducing the Denalis in turn.

Seth considers offering his hand to shake, but I twitch my head.

"Thank you for coming," Carlisle tells them, genuinely glad that they accepted our invitation (even if one is absent).

Tanya smiles as she takes his hand, but she can't help thinking about how close they all came to declining. Carlisle feels the tension in her hand and guesses its cause. Listening to the awkwardness in everyone's thoughts, I decide to tackle the issue head on.

"If the pack hadn't intervened," I tell her gently but firmly, "Laurent would have killed Bella." They have decidedly mixed feelings about that "opinion", so I don't belabour the point. I have another equally valid grievance to raise, and it is a fact that doesn't rely on Bella's or the pack's _version of events_. "Laurent told Victoria every single thing that Irina told him about the intricacies of our gifts—mine, Alice's, and Jasper's—and Victoria used that information to hide from Alice and terrorise Bella and the pack for over a week before we managed to defeat her."

This news shocks them, shaking them out of their blinkered mindset. Finally, they realise that Laurent was the villain after all. I see now why they felt so strongly that _we_ had betrayed _them_ by 'siding with wolves'—despite our assertion, they had believed in Laurent's burgeoning belief in our vegetarian lifestyle. I feel more sympathy as I listen to their shame at having shared our secrets with one who betrayed us all. I consider telling them that we didn't require them to ask permission, but I know Alice wouldn't want me to. She is still too angry to forgive them yet.

 _He seemed so gentlemanly_ , Carmen thinks sadly, _and so fond of Irina_. "Do you think he was playing us the whole time?"

Carlisle sees their shame and sadness, and I hate that he can actually empathise with them, because he still feels guilt for his part in abandoning Bella. He places a hand on Carmen's arm. "Laurent told Bella that he liked Irina very much," he says, recalling Alice's recital of Bella's tale (which is more than either of them have shared with me!), "but that he was struggling with the restrictions of our lifestyle—he'd already _cheated_ when he came across her."

They bow their heads, murmuring their apologies as they each reflect on the most memorable conversations they had with Laurent, looking at them in a fresh light. He had seemed wholly engrossed by their way of life. They had come to believe that he wanted to join their family. It pains them that they were so wrong—and that they allowed Irina's nascent attachment to cloud their judgement. They feel horribly guilty for trusting him over us.

Tanya admits to me in her thoughts, ruefully, that she had begun to view all the trouble we've gone to over Bella as a sign of my mental imbalance and my family's mistaken indulgence (falling in love with a human is something she can't comprehend, despite her carnal fondness for human men). She promises to start making amends by talking some sense into her sister the moment they return home.

"Speaking on behalf of myself and my bride—" they latch onto my joyous smile with hope, though Tanya can't help wishing I were referring to another (namely herself)—"you're wholeheartedly forgiven, and so is Irina."

Everyone smiles and Esme is overjoyed that our relationship is mending. "It has saddened us to be on bad terms with you," she says.

Kate places a hand on Esme's arm. "We feel the same," she says warmly. "We thought _you_ were in the wrong, but clearly, _we_ were." She hesitates, then addresses herself to Seth. "I for one am grateful to you and your pack for protecting Bella," she says, and her family all nods in agreement.

Seth nods back. "Bella and Edward are part of our family," he says, making it clear where the pack stands. "If Edward is your family, then I suppose that makes _us_ extended family."

Kate grins, intrigued by the idea, but the others are hesitant. Eleazar raises the obvious question. "Can we agree to that without a greater degree of trust?"

Seth just shrugs. "Wouldn't be a proper family without _some_ tension," he jokes. Then he gets serious. "We trust Edward—we even trust him enough to save us from ourselves."

Eleazar nods, accepting the implied criticism. Seeing his acknowledgement, the others sigh.

Tanya tries to come up with another conversation topic, but the only thing she can think of is the wedding—the last thing she wants to discuss when all she wants to do is wrap her arms around me. But then she remembers there's a socially acceptable request she can make in order to achieve an approximation of that outcome. "May I reserve a dance with the bridegroom tonight?" _I promise to be on my best behaviour_.

Her thoughts are far from pure, but I trust her to keep her promise. "Of course," I reply, though I am a little uneasy that Bella won't like it (especially when Sue thinks she won't, and she wasn't aware of Tanya's particular interest in me), and I know it's going to be uncomfortable hearing Tanya's reaction to my touch.

Kate takes Tanya's arm, just in case her sister forgets her manners, and says, "We're monopolising the groom," before towing her away.

Carmen and Eleazar nod to us and then follow after Kate as she leads Tanya around the back of the house, seeking a quiet spot where they can mourn together.

 _Was that too much?_ , Seth asks me, so I shake my head.

"Just right," I assure him.

. . . . .

 _Author's note: In my country, the legal drinking age is 18, so I forgot that Bella's bachelorette party should've been a 'dry' one! (Even if Alice had charmed the wait staff into breaking the law, Bella would never have gone along with it—and Alice wouldn't lie to her about the alcohol content of her drinks.)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Eleven: Husband**

While Alice and Rosalie put the finishing touches on Bella's hair and makeup (doing an impressive job of focusing their thoughts on details without giving me a full view of my bride), Jasper takes Carlisle's car to pick up Renée and Phil from their hotel just before Charlie arrives with Mr Weber. (Alice cleverly got rid of Renée after lunch by planting the idea that she should compose a poem for her beloved daughter, and Jasper times his departure now to minimise the amount of time Renée spends with Bella before the ceremony.)

Charlie gruffly compliments my suit without smiling, though his emotions are more positive than it would appear. Seth does his best to win a smile from the nervous father, but his jokes only make him blush and set Sue's thoughts on the track she's been trying not to think about around me since she and Charlie found solace in each other after losing Harry (they haven't discussed it yet, but Sue has no doubt that her deepening feelings are reciprocated). She is relieved when I smile in answer to her request to say nothing to Seth (because she isn't ready to tell Leah yet).

Mr Weber still feels the need to lecture me, so I appreciate it when Carlisle commandeers the conversation and then leads him away to describe the procedure for the evening. Charlie takes the opportunity to leave with them, so Seth and I greet the remaining guests on our own.

I'm glad our relationship with the Denali clan has been repaired by the time our other Quileute guests arrive (with one notable absence), because the Denalis are gobsmacked that so many wolves are in attendance, but at least they're no longer concerned that the pack might attack them without cause. Jared spent the night listening to Jacob trying to pretend today's event wasn't happening as he prowled the conifer forests of southern Canada, so he's sure Jacob won't get here in time—even if he changes his mind—and I can't help feeling selfishly pleased about that, though I wish he'd given him a message for Bella.

It is both helpful and exhausting when Renée's thoughts begin to intrude upon my mind. Her loud thoughts help drown out most other thoughts, but they also scatter my concentration. I know she will soon be seeing Bella, but nothing I do seems to dim the vivid images in her mind; even spending most of the past week in her presence hasn't afforded me a solution. She is currently plying Jasper with questions about our honeymoon, while Phil chuckles at her crazy ideas. I can't hear his thoughts at all, and it's still bizarre that he was technically a stranger until a week ago, given all that I've heard about him from Bella and Renée over the past 18 months.

Seth notices that I'm struggling with something, so I explain it quietly to him. He suggests trying to distract me with his own thoughts, and I appreciate the offer—until the only thing he can come up with is thinking about Sue and Charlie's budding relationship.

 _I asked her if they're gonna start dating, but she won't tell me anything_.

"I thought you were going to leave them alone."

 _Have you heard anything in her thoughts?_

"I wouldn't tell her _your_ secrets."

He rolls his eyes. _I'm trying to help you here_.

" _Thanks_ ," I retort, my tone heavy with sarcasm.

He just laughs. _Is it working?_

"Not really."

 _Sorry_.

"Not your fault," I assure him. I take a deep breath. "Renée is going to see Bella, so I'm trying to tell myself that seeing her through her mother's thoughts first won't spoil it for me."

Seth smiles, then he wonders about my sister's thoughts. How has Alice got Bella ready without spoiling it for me?

"She's been focusing on one piece of Bella at a time, and I've been letting her thoughts pass through my mind without thinking about them—otherwise I could piece them together."

Seth chuckles, imagining a "Bride Bella" jigsaw puzzle.

"I'd buy that," I say, delighted when he seriously entertains the idea of making one for us. "I'd _definitely_ buy that."

"It would be a _gift_ ," he chides softly, speaking aloud before I have to warn him that Angela is not the only one starting to notice the one-sidedness of our conversation.

I smile. "Thanks, Seth."

He smiles back, his eyes bright with excitement at the project forming in his head, then looks across the room at the trellised archway Bella and I will be married under. "I could just paint you on canvas," he offers, already starting to compose an image of the two of us standing there, "or I could try painting a wooden jigsaw."

"I like the jigsaw idea."

He grins. "Me, too." _But it might not be as good_.

"I have no doubt it will be worthy of a place on our wall," I assure him.

"Beside the Monet?" he jokes, thinking of the many landscapes we have on our walls.

"It's _Manet_ ," I joke back, making him laugh. "The Monet is in Carlisle's study."

" _Really?_ " he asks, distracted. He knows we have Manet's _The Banks of the Seine at Argenteuil_ , but I haven't yet shown him Carlisle's private collection.

I nod. "I'll show you later—I'd show you now, but Alice will scream if I set one foot on the stairs."

"Later's good," he assures me. _I like this_ , he adds, thinking of speaking aloud to me even though we're only talking to each other.

I nod, agreeing; the mix of spoken and unspoken thoughts is a pleasant counterplay across his wordless thoughts. And then, as I focus more closely on the multiple elements of Seth's thoughts, I realise it's actually helping me to let Renée's loud thoughts flow through my head. I remember our graduation party, picturing the authentic nightclub that Alice created; Renée's thoughts are simply the music blaring through the room in the background. "It's helping," I tell him quickly. "Keep doing it."

He laughs. "Sure, thing. Just give me something to talk about."

"How's Quil?"

" _Stoked_ ," he says, grinning as he pictures Quil racing through the forest, revelling in his new form. "He's glad to have his friends back." He lets his thoughts slide over Jacob's irritation at his friend's ambivalence towards the danger of imprinting. "Quil doesn't think there's any downside." _He even_ wants _to imprint—we both like Paul way more since he imprinted on Rachel_. "He's looking forward to being whole."

The deeper truth of that brings him up short as he ponders the complications of literally experiencing his pack-brothers' love for their soulmates with _this_ context in mind. Their love swamps him with confusing feelings, but have Jared's and Paul's thoughts (and Sam's to a lesser extent, given the fraught nature of his relationship) spoiled the experience for him as thoroughly as Renée's thoughts will spoil Bella's entrance for me?

"It'll still be special when it happens to you," I promise him. "When I listened to my family's love for their partners, I felt so whole in myself that I couldn't imagine finding someone who'd make me feel the way they felt. Now that I've—" I hesitate; I've only ever told Bella about my view of our relationship, and it sounds conceited saying it with all the vampires and wolves in the house to hear me say it.

"What?" Seth presses.

"It feels totally different. It's more powerful for us."

He chuckles, correctly guessing the reason for my hesitation, but dismisses my self-consciousness; he's inclined to think it natural, not a sign of my vanity. _How much more powerful than Sam's?_ , he asks, singling out the most powerful love he's experienced.

"Immeasurably," I admit.

He nods. "They all believe it now," he says, of the pack's belief that I 'imprinted' on Bella (and she on me). He thinks about the century it took for Bella to enter my life, then wonders about his own soulmate—will she never exist or is she already out there somewhere? "It's only a matter of time, isn't it?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Love is still a mystery."

 _Makes perfect sense to me_ , he teases. I like the way he views it—that love in its very broadest sense is what makes life worth living. "Did you think it wouldn't be worth it for you?" he asks. _That it would be impossible to love someone when you can hear their every thought?_

I shrug. "Didn't think it through to that extent. But it's not as though I live alone." I stop short of admitting that I'd do almost anything to hear Bella's thoughts. (Kate isn't alone in following our conversation closely enough to understand it, but her thoughts make me realise we haven't told the Denali clan that I can't hear Bella's thoughts—except Kate's thoughts don't encourage me to enlighten them: she is imagining exactly how wonderful it would be to have a lover who could hear her every wish and desire. If she weren't picturing _me_ as that lover, I might've been more forgiving.)

"True." _And you love_ me, he teases, sure that I could happily have an intimate relationship with him, although he can't quite picture what it would be like to hear his lover's thoughts. It had to be distracting, if not downright off-putting, to know exactly how each kiss and caress were being received.

The sound of the Mercedes on the drive distracts him. "That them?"

I nod. "Perfect timing," I tease.

He laughs. _It's not like I was thinking about_ us.

I lean in close. " _You_ weren't," I whisper into his ear, hoping to avoid Kate hearing and guessing the subject of our conversation this time. His immediate misinterpretation catches me off guard. "Not _me_ ," I add quickly, laughing softly at the idea that _I_ was thinking about kissing him—which I had unthinkingly encouraged with my body language.

He laughs with me, equally amused by the misunderstanding. _Someone else was thinking about kissing you?_ I nod, without getting into the gory details. _Who?_

I quirk an eyebrow at him, challenging him to think it through himself; there's no way I'm going to tell him if he can't guess.

 _A vampire_ , he proposes, stating the obvious.

"Yes."

 _Tanya?_

"No."

 _Kate_ , he concludes, realising she's the second-most likely possibility, since the others are all paired.

"Yes."

He grins. _I like her already_.

"Don't you start," I mutter, but I can't help grinning back.

Renée is already gushing about the decorations as they travel along the driveway, so I'm prepared for her exuberance when she sees what Alice and Esme have done with the house. Her reaction when she sees _me_ , however, is a little less expected. Alongside her usual amazement at my good looks, she decides that it's no wonder Bella wants to marry me before we go off to college (while hoping it doesn't backfire). I don't know whether to be amused or insulted.

I accept a brief hug from her and shake Phil's hand, before introducing Seth.

"I've heard so much about you!" Renée gushes, giving him a hug, too.

He is careful to avoid touching her bare skin lest the contrast between my chill and his heat unnerve her.

 _We should've held hands_ , he jokes as Esme ushers Renée upstairs.

I can't answer, because Phil is asking if my brothers and I had a good time last night. I make a few vague comments, deliberately letting him see my distraction as I watch Renée climb the stairs.

He chuckles, remembering the butterflies he'd felt on _his_ wedding day, and then follows Esme to his seat. Carlisle pats my arm, then moves off to ask our canapé-munching guests to find a seat. Charlie looks at me and nods, acknowledging that it's time to make his way upstairs. He glances at Sue on his way past and they share a smile. He is feeling the power of the moment almost as strongly as I am (relatively speaking). I focus on his veiled thoughts and the pleasantly harmonious thoughts of our guests to help tune out Renée's thoughts as she walks along the corridor to Alice's room.

You wouldn't know it from the relaxed way Carlisle guides people towards each spot, but he is following a careful seating plan—the Denali clan can't be seated near just anyone, and the wolves can't be seated near the Denalis. Alice took advantage of the first floor's design to cluster everyone together on one side of the aisle, avoiding the traditional 'bride' and 'groom' separation of guests so that the mix of humans, vampires, and shape-shifters isn't as conspicuous as it could've been—and the profusion of flowers and ribbons over everything also helps break up the crowd.

The chatter dies down and all eyes begin to turn my way expectantly, excited for the ceremony. Seth waits until only Carlisle is still standing, then gives me a brief hug and goes to sit beside his mother.

I walk the aisle and stand in my spot beneath the archway. Carlisle joins me after a half-minute, his joy for me suffusing every thought. We embrace, and then he takes up his proper position beside me.

 _It's actually happening_. _Bella is about to become my wife_.

When Mr Weber takes his place, it's clear that Alice's decorations have worked their magic on him, too. He smiles at me wholeheartedly, the niggling doubts silenced by his faith in the perfect façade we've presented. I shrug off the guilt of the pretence and return his smile.

As Renée enters Alice's room, I focus more tightly on my own joy, letting the images in her head stream across the corner of my notice—but her voice is a different matter. Seth and the other wolves can hear her almost as clearly as we vampires can.

"Oh, Bella!" she squeals, already tearing up; I dare to hope that I might actually get away with not seeing the dress or Bella clearly until I see her with my own eyes. "Oh, honey, you're so beautiful! Oh, I'm going to cry! Alice, you're amazing! You and Esme should go into business as wedding planners. Where did you find this dress? It's gorgeous! So graceful, so elegant. Bella, you look like you just stepped out of an Austen movie. Such a creative idea, designing the theme around Bella's ring. So romantic! To think it's been in Edward's family since the eighteen hundreds!"

Charlie's arrival halts the rush of words; he clears his throat, then says, "Renée, it's time you got settled down there."

"Charlie, don't you look dashing!" Renée exclaims, too stunned to hide her rather insulting surprise.

Charlie certainly doesn't appreciate it. "Alice got to me," he answers gruffly.

"Is it really time already?" Renée murmurs, realising what he's here for—to escort Bella down the aisle. "This has all gone so fast. I feel dizzy." She takes a moment to breathe, then reaches out to her beautiful daughter, her eyes still swimming with tears. "Give me a hug before I go down. Carefully now, don't tear anything."

When she turns, I feel a moment of excitement—and then she spins back to face Bella. "Oh goodness, I almost forgot! Charlie, where's the box?"

I can't help listening to Alice's thoughts as she watches Charlie feel in three pockets before pulling out a small white box. He passes it to Renée, who lifts the lid and holds it out to Bella.

"Something blue," she says simply.

"Something old, too," Charlie adds. "They were your Grandma Swan's. We had a jeweller replace the paste stones with sapphires."

Alice doesn't look at it, and Renée is too busy telling herself not to cry, so I can't see what Bella is seeing, only her reaction. Her eyes go round and her bottom lip wobbles with emotion.

"Mum, Dad," she says thickly. "You shouldn't have…"

"Oh, baby," Renée murmurs, thinking she'd give her the world if she could, "you deserve so much more. This is just a small piece of something eternally precious—like you."

The strikingly apt remark makes Bella giggle, though the hysterical bent to the sound makes my chest feel tight.

Alice doesn't let the moment drag on; she steps up, snatching up the jewellery, which she thinks of as _combs_ while managing not to picture them, and slides them into Bella's hair beneath the thick braids. "That's something old and something blue," she muses. "And your dress is new… so here—"

She flicks her garter at Bella with barely any warning, but she knows exactly how to throw it so that Bella will catch it without any real trouble.

"That's mine and I want it back," she tells Bella firmly, repeating it to me as well, while Bella's cheeks flush with colour.

"There," Alice says with satisfaction. "A little colour—that's all you needed. You are officially perfect." Then she smiles to herself, taking a moment for a little self-congratulation, and turns to Renée. "Renée, you need to get downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am," Renée replies; she doesn't leave before blowing her daughter a kiss, but mercifully, there are still tears swimming in her eyes.

"Charlie, would you grab the flowers, please?" Alice says, pointing out into the hallway.

Renée steps into view on the stairs while Alice takes advantage of Charlie's absence to slip the garter into place. Bella gasps and totters on her high-heeled feet in response to Alice's cold hand and hasty manhandling, and it's a bit of a struggle to keep a straight face.

Rosalie waits for Renée to sit down, and then she starts playing my version of Pachelbel's Canon. Her thoughts are pleasantly gentle; she is actually enjoying this.

Bella gasps softly when the sound of the piano reaches her.

"Focus, Bella," Alice murmurs, rising up on tiptoe to stare her in the eye. "Edward is waiting for you down there."

Bella takes a deep breath. "Edward," she repeats firmly. "Okay."

They step into the corridor, where Charlie is waiting with the two bouquets, as Rosalie builds to the start of the march, signalling the countdown to Bella's entrance.

"We're up to bat, Bells," he murmurs.

Bella nods and takes her bouquet and then his arm. Alice accepts her small bouquet and then dances ahead of them to the top of the stairs.

"It's my turn," Alice reminds them with a smile. "Count to five and follow me."

As I watch my sister make her way downstairs, I count down the microseconds before Bella will finally come into view. To make sure I see her with my own eyes first, not anyone else's, I don't even blink; it's not risky because no one is looking at me.

"Don't let me fall, Dad," Bella whispers.

Charlie doesn't answer, but I imagine his expression is comforting. He is choked up with love for his amazing daughter, and I know exactly how he feels (less the _paternal_ bent of his feelings, of course).

The moment Bella comes into view, the rest of the world disappears. All I can see is her divine form. All I can hear is her pounding heart, her shallow breaths. Her eyes are fixed on the stairs, and she takes advantage of the stately march to moderate her descent. When she finally looks up, she is initially distracted by Alice's decorations.

After two seconds, her gaze strafes across the room, searching for me, and our eyes meet at last. Her whole face lights up and I know mine does, too. Suddenly, she is struggling to match her pace to the music—and I'm struggling to wait for her. The short aisle feels impossibly long.

After one of the longest half-minutes of my existence, she's standing in front of me. I hold out my hand. Charlie takes Bella's hand and places it in mine, and everything is finally as it should be.

Our vows are the simple, traditional words that have been spoken a million times, though never by a couple quite like us. We asked Mr Weber to make only one small change, and he obligingly traded the line "till death do us part" for the more appropriate "as long as we both shall live".

As Bella speaks her vows, the tears in her eyes spill over, but there's no doubting they are tears of happiness. If I could cry, I would be in the same state.

When it is my turn to speak, the words burst forth triumphantly. I am so caught up in the moment that I 'repeat' the fourth line before Mr Weber says it aloud, much to the amusement of all present.

As soon as Mr Weber declares us husband and wife, I turn to my beautiful wife and take her face in my hands, revelling in the truth that she is _mine._ She stretches up on tiptoe, throws her arms—bouquet and all—around my neck, and presses her entire body against mine.

She kisses me as though we are the only two people on Earth, rather than two people standing in front of their entire family and friends.

I indulge her for 18 seconds, enjoying the opportunity to flaunt our passion, but I can't ignore the thoughts of certain members of our audience as easily as Bella is ignoring the titters and the throat-clearing. Using my hold on her face, I stop her from moving with me when I pull back. She eyes my smile with amusement and smiles back, a deep joy in her eyes that echoes my own.

The crowd erupts into applause, and we turn to face our friends and family as they stand up to follow us outside. Carlisle and Esme lead the way, while Renée wraps her arms around her daughter, who immediately returns the embrace with her free arm.

Many hands reach for us as we walk towards the back doors, passing on their congratulations with a touch. Bella clutches my hand tightly throughout and every second reminds me of the wondrous reality that, legally, morally, and spiritually, she is mine and I am hers.

The wedding flows into the reception party smoothly, proof of Alice's flawless planning. The ceremony lasted exactly the right amount of time to allow the sun to descend behind the trees. As I lead Bella outside, the lights in the trees glimmer, making the white flowers glow. There are another ten thousand flowers out here, serving as a fragrant, airy tent over the dancefloor set up on the grass under two of the ancient cedars.

The mellow August evening surrounds us as our little crowd spreads out under the twinkle lights. When we stop, our guests gather around us.

Seth is first in line to congratulate us. Sue is behind him, trying not to look tense in front of Charlie, though the approaching Denalis send chills running up her spine. Billy Black, in contrast, is surprisingly comfortable.

While I reply to Seth and accept a second hug, I don't miss the shared look of sympathy that passes between Bella and Billy. They are both missing his son's presence. But Jacob's acceptance of this event is so much less important to me than Billy's. Though this wedding presages Bella's transformation into something he rightly sees as one of the worst fates that can befall a person, he believes in Bella's decision. He trusts her not to lose herself to the monster, and he trusts me to help ease her change.

Sue hugs us both in turn, and then Charlie does, too. It is literally the first time he's touched me since I got back, and it means a lot to me.

When Angela and Ben step up to compliment us (while Seth wheels Billy towards the food), my scent coupled with the romantic setting makes Angela feel giddy. I can't avoid a hug without being obvious about it, but I make it as quick as possible. Her parents greet us next, wishing us well in our life together, and then Mike, Jessica, Eric, and Katie come up to see us in a tight cluster.

Jessica makes sure to hold Mike's hand and Mike feels equally keen to show us that he's not single, even if he's settling for someone he feels nothing for. I would feel sorry for Jessica if her thoughts weren't so irritating; I'm glad when Mike's attention on Tanya and Kate behind them encourages her to pull him aside more quickly.

As Tanya approaches, I am acutely aware that Bella's breathing cuts off. Is she really that intimidated by a woman I've repeatedly told her I feel nothing for? But Tanya's thoughts aren't strictly what they ought to be, and maybe Bella senses that. After clearing the air earlier, Tanya trusts that our relationship is mended. So now she feels especially wistful about my love for Bella; she tries to regulate her thoughts, but she can't hide that she wants what Bella has—literally.

When she reaches out to embrace me, my whole body tenses up. While she wraps her arms around me, I raise one hand to hover over her bare back without actually making contact; the other hand, I keep within Bella's tight grip.

Tayna rests a hand on the nape of my neck for half a second before her self-control kicks in fully; then she shifts her hands to my clothed back as she places a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Ah, Edward," she says with a sigh as she drops her arms. "It's good to see you so happy."

I smile to thank her for tempering her affections. "We're glad you came," I say, stretching the truth a little to spare Bella—and to flaunt the fact that I am officially a _we_ now.

"So am I."

"Let me introduce you to my wife," I add, elated that it is finally true. The Denalis all laugh lightly in response to my palpable joy. "Tanya, this is my Bella."

Tanya tears her gaze away from my face and smiles at Bella. Despite her feelings for me, she is not predisposed to dislike her, and she can even see her appeal. Bella isn't the pathetic creature she'd been picturing, and the fact that Bella clearly values my love as much as Tanya thinks it deserves makes it easier for her to accept losing me to a human girl.

"Welcome to the family, Bella," she murmurs, her smile turning rueful. "We consider ourselves Carlisle's extended family, and I _am_ sorry that we have not behaved as such recently. We should have met you sooner. Can you forgive us?"

"Of course," Bella says breathlessly. "It's so nice to meet you."

"The Cullens are all evened up in numbers now," she adds, giving Bella equal status and our relationship the respect it deserves. "Perhaps it will be our turn next, eh, Kate?"

"Keep the dream alive," Kate retorts, rolling her eyes; finding a long-term partner is not remotely interesting to her right now—she still enjoys variety in her sexual partners. She pats my arm and then takes Bella's hand and squeezes it gently. "Welcome, Bella."

Carmen places her hand on top of Kate's. "I'm Carmen; this is Eleazar. We're so very pleased to finally meet you. You are an exquisite addition to our family."

"Thank you," Bella murmurs, fresh tears welling in her eyes.

To spare her, Tanya makes a show of glancing over her shoulder at the people waiting behind them—Charlie's deputy, Mark, and his wife. Their eyes are huge as they stare at the elegant Denali clan.

"We'll let your other guests have their turn. We have _eons_ to get to know each other!" Tanya touches Bella's arm, finding a genuinely warm smile for her new cousin, before she and her family head over to join Carlisle and Esme.

After everyone else has moved across to the tables, Bella turns to me and wraps her arms around my neck. I lean down for a kiss and she puts on another show for those of our guests with one eye still on us (which is most of them). When she pauses for breath, I ask if she'd like to sit at the head table for a moment, but she doesn't even bother to answer before kissing me again.

While our guests take their seats for dinner, Bella and I collect up our specially prepared picnic (for one) and follow Esme, our 'official' wedding photographer, around the various locations she and Alice have set up for our photos. Thanks to Esme's gentle guidance, Bella quickly loosens up, and she even starts playing up to the camera, pulling on my collar or peaking around my shoulder or throwing back her neck so I can 'ravish' her.

Our guests' happy chatter and (predominantly) happy thoughts are a pleasant backdrop for our fun. They are all fascinated by the animal and plant fossils adorning each table. The head table features the skull of a juvenile Allosaurus from roughly 150 million years ago, while other tables boast trilobites, pelecypods, and gastropods. Each place setting also has its own small fossil keepsake, the impression of either a leaf or a footprint. Thanks to Alice's care, each guest is happiest with their allocated fossil—even the wolves, to whom she gave dinosaur footprints that resemble paw prints—so there are no arguments.

Upon our return, Alice leads us through all the standard wedding traditions. She nudges Bella into the perfect spot to throw her bouquet so that it lands squarely in Angela's surprised hands. Camera flashes burst in all directions as Bella and I hold an enormous knife over the spectacular, seven-tiered cake, and again as we take turns feeding cake to each other. Bella deliberately lets most of my portion crumble away before raising it to my lips. Emmett and Jasper howl with laughter at Bella's blush while I remove the borrowed garter—I'm a little disappointed that she has shimmied it down to her knee, so I tease her by sliding my fingers up the inside of her thigh while I'm under her dress. I'm tempted to shoot the garter into Mike Newton's offensive face, but Alice warns me that it's _hers_ , so I settle for flicking it at Jasper.

For the speeches, every guest is given a champagne flute filled with either champagne (I hope Bella never finds out the price per bottle!) or crisp, apple-juice-based lemonade of Alice's invention. Jasper serves the head table, while Emmett and Carlisle cover the rest of the guests. When Bella starts to decline the champagne, Alice astutely cuts her off.

"You'd better drink something alcoholic," she warns, "otherwise you're reinforcing—"

"Got it," Bella says hurriedly, accepting the champagne and taking a decent gulp. Then she hesitates. "Wow, that's delicious!"

Alice grins, not remotely insulted by Bella's surprise, and then whispers, "Edward will thank you for drinking his one, too."

"I should've eaten more of our picnic," Bella murmurs seriously, but then she grins at me and leans in close. "We might _both_ be throwing up tonight."

I chuckle, while our eagle-eared guests struggle to supress their amusement. "I'll monitor your intake so that doesn't happen," I promise.

"So… if I start feeling tipsy," she teases, "I can blame you?"

"Bella, it's champagne. You've had one sip and you're already tipsy."

She giggles even as she kisses me, and she only stops when Carlisle kicks off the toasting.

Then our families take turns making brief speeches that are basically as embarrassing as possible. Carlisle takes his best man duties to the point of joking that he knew Bella was special from the moment he met her—in hospital as his patient. Emmett jokes that he thought I'd never get over my fear of girls. And Alice takes great delight in mocking me while saying things that I can't possibly disagree with.

"My brother isn't anywhere near as perfect as he thinks he is," she says, "but I have to thank him for falling in love with my best friend." When she pauses to smile at Bella, Bella smiles back, beaming at my—no, _our_ —irritating, loveable sister. Her toast is, "To Edward, for not being a _total_ idiot, and to, Bella, for giving us all a second chance."

Then Renée recites her cute little poem about Bella before gushing about her daughter being her best friend and the voice of reason from the moment she could talk—literally (her first word was "wait"). She hesitates when it comes to saying something about me, though. She does genuinely like me, but her trust is still uncertain, and in this very moment, she suddenly worries that Bella has taken on another caregiver role, instead of finding an equal who can share the responsibilities of adulthood. But then she doubts that worry, too; maybe that is who Bella is. Maybe she not only wants to be the rational core of our relationship but is capable of bearing that responsibility (as Phil is in their relationship); and if I've found my safety net in her, there won't be any future meltdowns. So she falls back on a cliché-based (but still Renée-unique) "welcome to the family" speech.

It's a relief when the music finally starts. I pull Bella into my arms for the customary first dance, and she goes willingly, no hint of unease in her eyes or tension in her body. I do my best to endorse her faith in me, selecting moves designed as much for our enjoyment as our audience's viewing pleasure.

"Enjoying the party, Mrs Cullen?" I whisper in her ear.

She laughs. "That will take a while to get used to."

"We have a while," I reply, my voice exultant. I lean down to kiss her while we dance.

When the music changes, Charlie taps on my shoulder. I give him a smile, knowing how little he wants to do this, and pass Bella into his arms. Esme quickly distracts me from my father-in-law's self-consciousness ( _father-in-law!_ ), and we spin around the dancefloor, grinning madly at each other as we try to resist going into full-on ballroom dancing mode, while Bella and Charlie move side to side in a little square.

"I'm going to miss you at home, Bella," he murmurs.

"I feel just horrible," Bella replies, her voice tight with emotion as she tries to make a joke of it, "leaving you to cook for yourself—it's practically criminal negligence. You could arrest me."

He grins at that, happy to make light of it because he knows they both understand the deep love they have for each other. "I'll survive the food. Just call me whenever you can."

"I promise."

When the song ends, I'm a little peeved at the procession of guests lining up to dance with Bella. Esme protects me from Jessica by insisting she has another dance after Renée takes her turn with me, and then I dance with an impeccably well-behaved Tanya (we discuss Bella's and my college courses to help distract her) and then Kate (after she promises not to picture Bella and me in any intimate situations).

When I find myself at risk of having to dance with Jessica on a particularly slow and romantic song (which Emmett is singing to Bella as he manhandles her across the floor, delighting in her blush), I hastily grab the nearest available alternative, who unfortunately happens to be Angela. Her unspoken questions—and Ben's tortured thoughts—impel me to take the opportunity to tell her that I deliberately goaded Ben into asking her out.

" _Why?_ " she asks breathlessly, wide-eyed as she stares up at me, heart pounding. (But, unlike Jessica, she isn't wishing she had me instead of her man.)

"I know what it's like to get hung up on something that doesn't mean anything."

She wonders what _I_ got hung up on, but politely doesn't ask. "He actually thinks you were interested in me," she says, torn between amusement and sympathy on his behalf.

I can't help smiling, and it makes her heart stutter and her cheeks flush with heat. "Of course he does— _he_ is. I didn't mean to cause ongoing anxiety, though. Will you please tell him I'm sorry? I just thought it was the most direct way to show him that he'd lose his chance if he did nothing."

"Was that before or after you took your chance with Bella?"

"Before," I admit. "While I was building up the courage to ask out Bella, I noticed you and him trading looks."

"Thanks," she murmurs, not the least bit suspicious of my simple explanation. "I never would have said anything if he hadn't."

"My pleasure," I reply, foolishly smiling again, and her thoughts, which had been on Ben and how happy he makes her, veer onto the wonderment of my gorgeousness.

She averts her gaze hastily, rebuking herself for wondering what my lips feel like, but the damage is done. Ben saw his girl apparently swooning in my arms, and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Jasper instantly freezes, but Alice is able to manhandle him into the shadows without anyone noticing; Carlisle meets them in the dark in case she needs a bit more strength on her side, but Jasper nods to say he's sufficiently in control to run away—and then promptly does so.

I feel guilty for my part in causing his discomfort, but there's nothing I can do about that now, so I focus on assuaging Ben's angst. The song is barely halfway through, and Jessica is still annoyingly close, ready to pounce while Emmett is dancing with Bella, so I point out his obvious distress to Angela and then we start heading in his direction.

On the way, we dance past Seth, who is being instructed how to waltz by Sue. He calls (telepathically) for me to save him, so I tilt my head towards Ben and he takes the hint and steers his dance partner in the same direction. Then, when he picks up on Ben's tenseness, he realises I need saving, too. He gives Sue a beseeching look and she puts on a long-suffering sigh as she lets him go.

"Can I cut in?" he asks Angela, not even waiting for an answer before smoothly sliding her off to the side.

For a moment, she and Ben both think that Seth intends to dance with her, perhaps leaving me with his erstwhile partner, but then they watch Seth take _my_ hand with a kind of shocked amazement. I have to laugh at their thoughts.

"Did you learn anything?" I ask; Seth immediately grasps that I'm referring to his brief dance lesson, so I don't bother elaborating.

"The waltz is boring."

"Properly done, it can be quite exhilarating—although I do prefer the foxtrot."

"How's that go?"

"We don't have room."

 _Pity_ , he teases, before switching our grips so that he is leading. "Spin for me, Cullen," he jokes, raising a few sniggers throughout the crowd.


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve: Guide**

When Bella accepts Mike's request to dance with her, I blame myself for not being close enough to stop him (because I could have easily coaxed Renée back onto the dance floor instead of returning to the head table with her to refill her glass). I can't endure the odious boy manhandling my wife for more than half a minute.

Bella grins when I cut in. "Still not that fond of Mike, eh?" she teases as I whirl her far, far away from him.

"Not when I have to listen to his thoughts. He's lucky I didn't kick him out. Or worse."

"Yeah, right."

"Have you had a chance to look at yourself?" I ask, surprised that she isn't more understanding.

"No, why?"

I am momentarily shocked at Alice's lapse, before deciding it must have been forgotten in her efforts to avoid spoiling my vision of her (and then her focus on Jasper, given the sizeable number of humans gathered here with us). "Then you mustn't realise how utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful you are tonight. I'm not surprised Mike's having difficulty with improper thoughts about a married woman."

"You are very biased, you know."

I stop dancing and turn her around to face the house. The wall of glass reflects the party back like a long mirror. When Bella doesn't immediately spot her reflection, I point to the couple directly across from us.

"Biased, am I?"

Her eyes flick across my reflection, lips twitching with delight, then freeze upon the dark-haired beauty at my side.

She doesn't even blink and I enjoy the awe in her expression as she marvels at herself (as do Carlisle and Esme). And then, when I am least expecting it, Jacob's thoughts burst into my mind. I can't help stiffening; he is almost here—Renée's loud thoughts and my focus on Bella have enabled him to sneak up on me.

Of course Bella notices. "What is it?" she asks, eyes searching my face.

I force my lips into a smile; whatever my own feelings, I know Bella will be happy to see him. "A surprise wedding gift."

"Huh?"

I don't answer; I don't want to spoil the surprise, because she'll quickly realise it's not a gift for both of us. I start dancing again, spinning us away from the lights and into the shadows ringing the luminous dancefloor. (If Alice had planned for this visit, she couldn't have positioned the dancefloor any better.)

I lead Bella over to the dark side of one of the huge cedars, where Jacob is waiting. Sam and Jared catch his scent and nod to each other, leaving Emily and Kim to dance alone while they slip away into the darkness to shed their clothes and phase, not taking the chance that Jacob can control his temper. (Embry and Quil are patrolling the Quileute border together, and the news that Jake is here sends them sprinting in this direction.)

"Thank you," I tell him, acknowledging the effort he's making for Bella's sake, his intention to wish her congratulations and then leave, and the fact that he's wearing proper clothes; he takes it as thanks for showing up, but I can live with that. "This is very… kind of you."

"Kind is my middle name," he replies drolly, doing his best to be civil (it grates against his nature to do it, but he vows to respect the bounds of friendship—for Bella's sake). "Can I cut in?"

Bella's hand flies up to her throat and her body goes limp; if I weren't holding her up, she would have collapsed. She gasps in a breath, then chokes out, "Jacob!" Her sleep-spoken outbursts play uncomfortably through my mind.

"Hey there, Bells."

She stumbles towards him, and I force myself to let go, clenching my fists at my side as Bella falls into his arms. Her eagerness reinforces the little fantasy he's picturing, in which she is now married to _him_ —that she dressed up like this and endured all the attention to become _his_ wife—and he pulls her close, hugging her while she buries her face in his chest. When he presses his cheek to the top of her head and breathes deeply of her glorious scent, I can't bear to stand here any longer. Seeing Bella find such joy in Jacob's arms is too enraging—and heartbreaking.

It takes a moment to compose myself, but any effort is worth it for my beloved wife. "Rosalie won't forgive me if she doesn't get her official turn on the dancefloor," I murmur, giving them a moment alone.

Bella's emotional sobs follow me as I move in Rosalie's general direction (she heard me and she actually does want to dance with me). "Oh, Jacob," Bella babbles, barely coherent. "Thank you."

"Stop blubbering, Bella," he murmurs; her tears don't make him uncomfortable, though they do make him feel guilty for being late. "You'll ruin your dress. It's just me."

" _Just?_ Oh, Jake! Everything is perfect now."

He snorts; _nothing_ here is perfect as far as he is concerned—apart from Bella.  "Yeah—the party can start. The best man finally made it."

"Now _everyone_ I love is here."

Rosalie cringes at that, understanding what it costs me to hear my wife say that to someone who loves her (relatively speaking) almost as much as I do. She gives me a kiss on the cheek, and as we continue to dance, she does an impressively good job of minimising the amount of times she thinks that I brought all this pain on myself. (Over the course of the day, her opinion that I should have let James's venom do its work has lessened, but she still thinks I've mishandled almost every aspect of our relationship.)

Jacob kisses Bella's hair, wishing that the love she has for him could have been enough. "Sorry I'm late, honey."

"I'm just so happy you came!"

"That was the idea," he replies, though that is hardly the truth—he'd hoped she would be happy to see him, but he came here for himself.

"Billy will be so glad you're home," she says, and it's a relief that she isn't as totally focused on her own joy as she seems.

Jacob is as peeved at the reminder as I am reassured by it, and then he senses his pack-brothers lurking nearby, which irritates him even more. He knows he's risking my patience, but he dares to shift Bella in his arms, leaving one hand on the small of her back and grabbing her right hand with the other, then cradling it to his chest—over his heart.

"I don't know if I get more than this one dance," he murmurs, making his excuse, before pulling her around in a slow circle that doesn't match the tempo of the music. "I'd better make the best of it."

He moves her to the rhythm of his heart, rubbing it in that _my_ heart is cold and silent.

"I'm glad I came," he murmurs. "I didn't think I would be. But it's good to see you… Not as sad as I'd thought it would be."

"I don't want you to feel sad."

"I know that. And I didn't come tonight to make you feel guilty."

"No—it makes me very happy that you came. It's the best gift you could have given me."

He laughs, trying to focus on the positive (rather than mourn the happy relationship they'll never have). "That's good, because I didn't have time to stop for a real present."

Bella looks up at him, her wide eyes dark in the darkness, and so full of emotion. I don't want to think of it as love, but it goes well beyond friendly affection.

"When did you decide to come back?" she murmurs.

"Consciously or subconsciously? I don't really know. I guess I've been wandering back this direction for a while, and maybe it's because I was headed here. But it wasn't until this morning that I really started _running._ " Listening to Jared's thoughts had made him realise he didn't want to miss out on seeing her with his own eyes. "I didn't know if I could make it." He laughs, still amazed that he got here before the night was over. "You wouldn't believe how weird this feels—walking around on two legs again. And clothes! And then it's more bizarre _because_ it feels weird. I didn't expect that. I'm out of practice with the whole human thing.

"It would have been a shame to miss seeing you like this, though," he goes on, the words bursting out of him after so long without speaking. "That's worth the trip right there. You look unbelievable, Bella. So beautiful."

"Alice invested a lot of time in me today. The dark helps, too."

"It's not so dark for me, you know."

"Right," she mutters, and as much as I hate that she'd forgotten his less-than-humanness, I'm not surprised. Then she blurts, "You cut your hair."

"Yeah. Easier, you know. Thought I'd better take advantage of the hands."

"It looks good," she says, obviously lying to spare his feelings.

He snorts. "Right. I did it myself, with rusty kitchen shears." He grins at her, playing up the joke, but he can't hold back the angst any longer. "Are you happy, Bella?" he asks, abruptly serious.

"Yes."

Her conviction is absolute; he can't argue with that. "Okay," he says, shrugging—he can't shrug off his feelings, but he tries to convince himself that Bella has a right to choose me, and the half-life that goes along with that choice (even if he thinks she doesn't fully appreciate the consequences). "That's the main thing, I guess."

"How are you, Jacob? Really?"

"I'm fine, Bella, really. You don't need to worry about me anymore." He tries to say he's happy, but the lie won't come out. "Being a wolf would be about perfect if I could get rid of the voices in my head."

She laughs at that. "Yeah, I can't get mine to shut up, either."

"In your case, that would mean you're insane. Of course, I already know that you are."

" _Thanks_."

"Insanity is probably easier than sharing a pack mind. Crazy people's voices don't play bodyguard."

"Huh?"

"You've lost some of your guests—Sam and Jared have phased. Just in case, you know."

"In case of what?"

"In case I can't keep it together, something like that. In case I decide to trash the party." He flashes a smile; the idea definitely appeals to him. "But I'm not here to ruin your wedding, Bella. I'm here to…" He trails off, trying to put into words what he's here for (without sounding selfish).

"To make it perfect."

"That's a tall order."

"Good thing you're so tall."

He groans at the bad pun and then sighs. He really doesn't want to hurt her— _that_ is his gift.  "I'm just here to be your friend. Your best friend."

Bella smiles at him for a long moment, then her eyes tighten. "Sorry about those voices," she says, clearly apologising for so much more than that. "Wish I could make it better."

"It's not that bad. I'm just whining a little."

"You're… happy?"

"Close enough," he hedges, hoping she'll accept that for an answer. "But enough about me. You're the star today," he teases. "I bet you're just _loving_ that. Centre of attention."

"Yeah. Can't get enough attention."

He laughs and then takes his eyes off Bella for a moment to observe the party. "I'll give them this much," he remarks. "They know how to throw a party."

"Alice is an unstoppable force of nature."

The music changes and he sighs. "Song's over. Do you think I get another one? Or is that asking too much?"

Bella tightens her hand around his; his heart thuds loudly and I flinch. Rosalie understands my reaction when Bella exclaims, "You can have as many dances as you want."

Jacob laughs, because he knows that's a promise I wouldn't let her keep. "That would be interesting. I think I'd better stick with two, though. Don't want to start talk."

Rosalie agrees to keep me company for another dance, and it is strangely comforting to receive this bit of sympathy from my least forgiving sister.

"You'd think I'd be used to telling you goodbye by now," Jacob murmurs as they turn in another circle.

Bella makes a little choked sob and he realises she is crying again. He wipes his fingers across her cheek, catching the tears there.

"You're not supposed to be the one crying, Bella."

"Everyone cries at weddings," she argues thickly.

"This is what you want, right?"

"I don't want to lose you, Jake," she murmurs with heartfelt sentiment. "Why do you have to say goodbye? Are you going somewhere?"

"Aren't _you_?" he replies brokenly, failing in his attempt not to think about how long she's got left. He doesn't share Seth's confidence that Bella will wait a year—he thinks it's much more likely to be tomorrow.

Bella looks devastated on his behalf; of course she doesn't need him to say more (and she is clearly forgiving him for drawing a line under their friendship when she becomes a vampire). "It's not tonight, Jacob," she whispers.

"Oh," he says, trying not to sound too relieved. But now that she has said that much, he can't resist asking. "When?" he whispers.

"I don't know for sure," Bella hedges. "A few months."

He doesn't know how to process this, and I don't either. Why _months_? He doesn't believe that our college plans are any more than a cover until we paint whatever story of untimely death we choose to hide Bella's 'makeover'. He forgets his vow not to condemn her choice.  "What's the holdup?" he quips, his voice mocking.

"I don't want to spend my honeymoon writhing in pain," Bella retorts.

"You'd rather spend it how? Playing checkers? _Ha ha_."

"Very funny."

"Kidding, Bells. But, honestly, I don't see the point. You can't have a real honeymoon with your vampire, so why go through the motions? Call a spade a spade. This isn't the first time you've put this off. That's a _good_ thing, though," he adds, realising what he's saying. "Don't be embarrassed about it."

"I'm not putting anything off," she snaps. "And _yes I can_ have a real honeymoon! I can do anything I want! Butt out!"

He freezes abruptly, scrambling to understand her meaning. "What did you say?" he gasps.

"About what…? Jake? What's wrong?"

"A _real_ honeymoon? While you're still _human_? Are you kidding? That's a sick joke, Bella!"

She glares at him, apparently not remotely concerned that he's losing his temper. "I said butt out, Jake. This is _so_ not your business—"

Rosalie lets me go before I need to excuse myself; she knows what is about to happen as well as I do. Alice sets up a pre-emptive diversion to draw our guests' attention.

Jacob grabs Bella's shoulders, squeezing much too tightly in his outrage.

"Ow, Jake! Let go!"

"Have you _lost your mind_?" he cries. "You can't be that stupid! Tell me you're joking!"

"Take your hands off her!" I snap as I approach, both as warning and instruction, lest my presence cause him to lose his temper while he's holding Bella.

Sam, Jared, Paul, and Seth join us; Sam gives a low snarl and then Jared joins in, warning him to leave.

"Jake, bro," Seth adds, hoping to avoid a fight, "back away. You're losing it."

Jacob is frozen, trapped in horrific visions of Bella broken and bloodied, brown eyes wide and staring. I am too agonised by the parallel with my own fears to risk trying to pull him off her.

"You're hurting her," Seth warns. "Let her go."

"Now!" I snarl.

Jacob's hands drop to his sides, and Bella gasps at the sudden release of tension. I wrap my arms around her and whisk her out of reach; her distress is palpable, so I stop nearby, suppressing the urge to hide her in my bedroom. The four other wolves, Seth and Paul still in human form, flank Jacob, confining him now that it's clear he _does_ want a fight. His body is shaking wildly and he is barely holding on to reason.

"I'll kill you," Jacob hisses at me. "I'll kill you myself! I'll do it now!" His whole body convulses, but before he can change, Sam growls sharply, distracting him for just long enough.

"Don't do it, Jake," Seth pleads. "Walk away. C'mon."

Between the two of them, Seth and Paul manage to push him a few feet further into the forest, so Sam is able to join them in shoving Jacob away from the party.

Jared glances back at us, asking me to tell Kim and Emily that he'll be back as soon as he can. (Sam doesn't know if he'll be able to return at all, but Embry is quick to say that he and Quil can provide the support Jacob needs right now.)

"I'm sorry," Bella whispers to Jared.

He gives her a small shrug, then follows after Sam and Jacob, who is now struggling _not_ to phase—he doesn't want to be besieged by their thoughts, and he knows that phasing won't help clear his mind right now.  "It's all right now, Bella," I murmur, trying to comfort her. "Let's get back."

"But Jake—"

"Sam has him in hand. He's not coming back."

"Edward, I'm so sorry. I was stupid—"

"You did nothing wrong—"

"I have such a big mouth! I shouldn't have let him get to me like that. What was I thinking?"

"Don't worry." I touch her face, wiping away the tracks of dried tears across her cheeks. Seth returns before I can say anything else.

When he steps up beside us, Bella jumps a little, but she recovers almost instantly. "I'm sorry," she says to him, too.

He gives her a smile and pats her back. "It wasn't you," he says, seconding me.

She takes a steadying breath, then exhales. "My dress?" she murmurs.

"You look fine," I assure her. "Not a hair out of place."

She takes another deep breath, then nods. "Okay. Let's go."

I put my arms around her and draw her back into the light, spinning her gently onto the dancefloor. We join the other dancers as if Jacob never crashed the party. But my emotions are in turmoil, and I'm not the only one in distress. Sue noticed Sam and Jared slip away and the tension in my family alarmed her when she couldn't see Seth. She snatches at him the moment he steps back onto the dancefloor, quietly but firmly demanding an explanation. (Esme and Carlisle were careful to keep Renée occupied, otherwise there would've been a second panicky mother—one who absolutely would've made a commotion had she noticed our absence.)

"I can't believe I did that," Bella mutters to herself. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with _you_."

She sighs, then shakes her head. "It's over. Let's not think of it again tonight."

I can't answer; I can't _stop_ thinking about it—about Bella's broken, lifeless corpse draped across our marriage bed, congealing blood marring the alabaster perfection of her translucent skin. It doesn't help that Jacob is still thinking about it, too, even after giving up and phasing.

"Edward?"

I close my eyes, though it doesn't help. "Jacob has a point," I murmur.

"Jacob is way too prejudiced to see anything clearly," she insists. She grabs my face and shakes me ever so gently, urging me to open my eyes. When I do, she says, "There's nothing wrong here. You and I are meant to be together. Forget Jacob came. Do you hear me?"

Though her directive is impossible, I nod. Staring into her eyes, I find strength in her unwavering resolve—but I can't fully vanquish my nerves.

"Don't be afraid," she murmurs, no doubt seeing the apprehension in my eyes.

I don't know what to say, but Emmett is my unlikely rescuer; he comes up behind me and wraps an arm around each of us. "Come have a drink with me," he says, seconding Bella's directive. "You don't want to be _dehydrated_ on your honeymoon."

Bella blushes even as she chuckles, for the first time looking pleased by Emmett's innuendo (though perhaps only because he kept his comment so light), and allows him to walk us over to the head table.

Esme joins us there, wrapping an arm around me while Emmett and Bella joke about champagne's hydrating properties.

"Smile, Wadie," she murmurs, trying to comfort me with her thoughts.

"I can't—"

"Shush," she interrupts. "You can, and you _should_. She's your _wife_." We both smile at that and she mentally cheers for raising my spirits. "I know you won't hurt her." _Or my house_.

Thinking about the destruction that Emmett and Rosalie wrought on her beautiful house doesn't ease my anxiety, but I do my best to push Jacob's nightmarish scene from my thoughts. Ironically, Kate's lewd thoughts help. None of her family is remotely surprised that Bella and I are planning to consummate our marriage tonight, as any human couple would, though they are a little surprised by my nerves (like Emmett, Jasper, and Rosalie—and Bella, too, no doubt—they figure that I can simply bite her if anything goes awry).

Kate indulges in visions of Bella and me in the throes of passion, suggesting a few moves I should try. Then she tells me that women are capable of _multiple_ orgasms so I shouldn't make Bella stop at one. My mouth falls open when she shows me that she and her sisters regularly engage in orgies, pleasuring each other as well as their human bedmates. (She's breaking her promise to Tanya, but she thinks I need to get over my prudishness about sex.) Esme quirks an eyebrow, so I simply say Kate's name and she guesses the naughty nature of her thoughts. Normally, she would admonish Kate for her mischief-making, but tonight she merely laughs. (And indeed, her thoughts go further than Kate's: she thinks I need to overcome my _fear_ of sex.)

Alice brings Bella a glass of water and then requests a final dance with me. She seconds Esme's confidence in me while carefully focusing on tonight's travel arrangements and not what happens after we arrive at our destination. We have a long way to go and many different forms of transport to take, but she still sees us getting there without any delays. _Bella's going to love the island_ , she tells me happily.

"Thank you," I reply. "And thank you for a _magnificent_ wedding."

She laughs, remembering the thought she'd had of me grovelling at her feet all those months ago. _I_ told _you she'd love it_ , she teases.

"Bella isn't the only one who likes to say _I told you so_ ," I observe dryly, making her laugh again.

"She'll be saying it plenty on your honeymoon," Alice quips.

I huff at her little joke and decide I need Bella back in my arms. When I turn us to head in her direction, Alice grins, then gets serious. _You have six minutes_ , she warns.

Bella welcomes my arms around her jubilantly, helping me shove my anxieties back where they usually lie. Not bothering to dance, she simply lays her head against my chest.

"I could get used to this," she murmurs.

"Don't tell me you've got over your dancing issues?" I tease.

"Dancing isn't so bad—with you. But I was thinking more of this—" she presses herself even more tightly against me—"of never having to let you go."

"Never," I promise, leaning down to kiss her.

I didn't plan to give her more than a brief kiss, but the moment our lips meet, my body's need takes over—my body feels no qualms about tonight, only excitement that the time for boundaries is over. Her pulse races, responding to my greater urgency. The intensity between us builds steadily, channelling my focus so tightly that I almost forget where we are…

And then Alice interrupts. "Bella! It's time!"

Bella twitches but otherwise ignores her; I ignore her, too, because she promised me six minutes and it's barely been five.

"Bella, do you want to wear that dress on the plane?" Alice challenges, knowing that only the practicalities have any hope of getting Bella's attention. "I didn't pick out the perfect going-away dress to have it wasted," she laments.

"Gimme a minute," Bella murmurs against my lips.

"You've _had_ your minute," Alice insists, pulling Bella's nearest hand off my cheek and giving her arm a gentle tug.  "Come with me, Bella."

To the amusement of the watching guests, Bella resists, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss me one more time, before finally allowing Alice to haul her away. She giggles at Alice's martyred expression, before giving her a genuine smile. "Thank you, Alice," she says, "it was the most beautiful wedding anyone ever had." The earnestness in her voice is unmistakeable. "Everything was exactly right. You're the best, smartest, most talented sister in the whole world."

The effusive thanks give Alice immense delight; she beams at Bella. "I'm glad you liked it."

Renée and Esme follow them upstairs, and I follow a little way further back. While Renée helps where she can through the tears streaming from her eyes, Alice and Esme make short work of Bella's dress, swapping it for a deep blue ensemble. Bella sighs in relief when Esme starts pulling the pins out of her hair.

I swap my wedding suit for the simple white shirt and grey trousers that Alice laid out on my bed sometime this morning, then go back downstairs to wait for them. Most of our guests have gathered downstairs, too; Seth grins at my wardrobe change as he drapes an arm over my shoulder.

"So, what's it like in a private jet?" he teases.

"I don't know. We're flying first class."

"Oh," he replies, nodding his approval. "Much more sensible." _Except there won't be room for_ …

"Yes," I say, hoping to cut him off (it works, partially), "and it's not an overly long flight."

He laughs and considerately shifts his thoughts to wondering where we might be going instead of what we'll be doing once we get there; he correctly guesses that it will be somewhere warm and secluded, but he doesn't think far enough afield.

Upstairs, Bella hugs her mother goodbye. "I'll call you when I know where I'm going," she promises.

"I'll tell you as soon as she's safely away," Alice pipes up, smirking at Bella's immediate frustration.

"You _have_ to visit me and Phil  and the sun again soon," Renée says.

"It didn't rain today," Bella replies, avoiding her request.

"A miracle."

"Everything's ready," Alice tells them. "Your suitcases are in the car—Emmett's bringing it around." She pulls Bella back towards the stairs even before Renée has fully released her.

"I love you, Mum," Bella whispers while they awkwardly descend the stairs, arm in arm. "I'm so glad you have Phil. Take care of each other."

"I love you, too, Bella, honey."

"Goodbye, Mum. I love you," Bella repeats, her voice thick with emotion.

Bella takes my outstretched hand as soon as she can reach it, but doesn't walk into my arms as I expect. She scans the crowd behind me. "Dad?" she asks me, her eyes still searching.

"Over here," I murmur, guiding her through the crowd; everyone obligingly makes a pathway for us, guessing our intent if they didn't hear Bella's question. Charlie is leaning against the wall, hiding behind everyone else, embarrassed at his tears.

"Oh, Dad!" Bella cries, seeing the red rims around his eyes. She drops my hand and throws her arms around his waist, tears streaming from her eyes again, too.

Charlie awkwardly pats her back. "There, now. You don't want to miss your plane."

"I love you forever, Dad," Bella tells him firmly, not letting it go unsaid this time. "Don't forget that."

"You, too, Bells. Always have, always will."

She kisses his cheek at the same time that he kisses hers; the synchronicity makes for a sweet moment.

"Call me," he says.

"Soon," she promises, and the catch in her voice makes me question what she's thinking—is she wondering if this will turn out to be the last time she sees her parents after all? If I spoil our lovemaking, she will be transitioning to a vampire in a matter of hours. But I push that thought aside. I _can_ be careful. I am strong, but my will is stronger. I won't hurt her.

"Go on, then," Charlie says gruffly after a moment. "Don't want to be late."

The guests make another aisle for us, but I can't resist pulling Bella close to my side as we walk to the door.

"Are you ready?" I ask, pressing her for confirmation that she is ready to leave our families behind, ready to start our honeymoon, ready to _try_ —

"I am," she says decisively, and I believe her.

Everyone applauds when I pause to kiss her on the doorstep. Then I have to hurry her to the car as the rice storm begins—without moving _too_ quickly. Most of the rice goes wide, but Emmett throws it just that little bit too hard at me, and Bella catches a lot of the ricochets off my back.

The Volvo is decorated with flowers that trail in streamers along its length, and long gossamer ribbons that are tied to a dozen shoes—brand-new, designer shoes that I know Alice took great care in selecting, though I can't see anything special about them—dangling behind the bumper.

I shield Bella from the continuing bombardment of rice while she climbs in, and then hurry to my side of the car. As I drive off, Bella waves out the window and calls, "I love you," towards the porch and our families, who are waving back.

Bella smiles and I take heart from her hopeful expression. I want to share the feeling. "I love you," I say.

"No one has ever loved anyone more than I love you," she replies, her eyes shining with happiness.

I lean down and kiss her temple, letting her have the last word even though she isn't completely correct.

She chuckles, no doubt interpreting the quick kiss as my counterargument, but before she can speak, the sound of our engine reaches the ears of our tardiest guest and he howls out his pain.

Bella flinches and turns her head away, either in the hope of seeing him out the window (maybe she doesn't realise how far away he is?) or in an attempt to hide her expression from me.

The piercing, heartbroken howl devolves into quiet whimpers that I can only hear after Seth slips into the forest and phases. Jacob is initially angry at having a third set of thoughts intrude on his heartbreak, but Seth's faith in me is surprisingly comforting for him. He still doesn't believe that Bella won't end up a vampire before the month is out, but he takes heart in Seth's confidence that I won't do anything to hurt Bella, and my devotion to her at least reassures him that Bella's happiness is the sole purpose of my existence. If he can't have her, at least he knows with absolute certainty that she is happy—for the first time, he acknowledges that she is happier with me than she has ever been with him.

I am glad for the relative closure, and I want to share it with Bella, but she speaks before I've figured out what to say.

"Did you help Alice pack for me?"

"She wouldn't let me," I admit. "She packed my things, too."

Panic flits through her eyes for the first time tonight. "You don't know what's in our bags?"

"No, but she promised to pack clothes you'll actually want to wear," I say, hoping to settle her unease.

She huffs out a breath and relaxes back into her seat. "She better have," she mutters, and I murmur my agreement—there are no shops where we're going.

Half a minute later, though, she suddenly smiles. "I suppose I can forgive her if she went a bit crazy—she did give us a perfect wedding."

"That she did," I agree, smiling in return.

"The flowers, and the sculpted benches, and my dress—and your suit—and the tables, and the way one thing flowed into the next so naturally," she murmurs, listing my favourite things, too. "And those little fossils were so cute. I love my one. What is it?"

"A trilobite," I reply. "Specifically, _Erbenochile erbeni_."

"What about yours?"

"Also a trilobite—just one that's about eighty-six million years older."

She laughs, amused by Alice's little joke. Then she asks, "Where did Jasper get to? I don't remember seeing him when we left."

"That was my fault," I confess. "Ben bit his lip when I was dancing with Angela."

She cringes, then frowns. "I didn't see you dancing with Angela."

"You were dancing with Emmett. Angela and I only danced together for a couple of minutes; Seth rescued me before the song ended."

That makes her laugh. "I saw _that_." She laughs again. "I think Rachel got a few good shots of the two of you."

"That depends on your definition of _good_."

"I doubt it," she shoots back. "Although Mister Weber looked pretty horrified." She chuckles once, then tries to rein in her amusement. "The poor man wasn't worried he'd married a gay man, was he?"

I can't help chuckling at her phrasing. "No. He was trying to tell himself that two male friends can dance together without it implying anything sexual, but the instinctive disapproval he felt did shock him. Ironically, if we _were_ gay, he probably would've found it easier to deal with."

"Weird," Bella murmurs.

I shrug. "Sexuality is a scary subject for a lot of people."

"It must have been much worse a few decades ago."

"Yes and no. The decriminalisation of homosexuality has helped considerably, but many people still feel a great deal of anxiety—about their own sexuality and about others'."

"That's sad," she murmurs. To rouse her spirits, I'm just about to make a joke about Esme asking me if I were in love with Carlisle (back when we were both adjusting to her new life) when she opens her mouth. "Did _you_ ever wonder…?"

I can't help laughing at the parallel between our thoughts. "No," I assure her. "I may not have found any girl who stood out from the rest until you came along, but I always knew I was attracted to the opposite sex."

She nods. "Me, too."

In the conversational lull, I can't resist sharing my joke. "While Esme and I were still getting to know one another, she wondered if I fancied Carlisle."

Bella grins. "Because you were jealous of all the attention she was getting?"

"No, and I _wasn't_ jealous," I insist, going for an additional comedic moment (and Bella reacts superbly, waggling an eyebrow to tease me for the rapid protest). "She was trying to understand why I was so emotionally reserved. The truth was, I was still dealing with my own transformation, and her thoughts brought it all back again." She grimaces despite my avoidance of explicit reference to a newborn's raging thirst, and I regret the turn the conversation is taking. "Perhaps I took that thought out of context," I say lightly. "She wondered if I fancied _her_ , too."

"That would've been messy," she quips—and then her grin abruptly dies, as though she just realised that we know exactly how 'messy' such affairs can become.

I like that she'd forgotten Jacob, and it makes me feel surer that she _isn't_ in love with him, not even a little. Which means it feels like the perfect time to clear the air. "Jacob understands now just how happy I make you. He'll be okay."

"Really?"

I nod. "He doesn't believe that you'll wait," I elaborate, shying away from the full truth that he expects her transition to begin before the day is out, whether she wants that or not, "but he accepts your choice."

That makes her eyes widen. "My choice to become a vampire?"

"Yes. He still thinks that vampires are dead—" technically, he thinks of us as _animated corpses_ , but that detail isn't essential—"but he won't think of _you_ as being dead."

She smiles at that. "Thank you," she murmurs.

I tilt my head towards her to acknowledge her appreciation, but I'm not quite finished yet. "He and I will never be friends—"

"Maybe you will if he finds his soulmate soon," she says hopefully.

I shake my head at the impossibility of that idea. "His soulmate would have to be someone _very_ special," I quip, before returning to my point. "But your friendship should survive."

She sighs. "He'll never be as relaxed around me as Seth is around you."

"Maybe not, but at least you'll know he doesn't hate you."

"Yes," she agrees. "That's nice to know." Then she squeezes my hand. "That's why I was so happy he came tonight."

I smile, appreciating the insight.

"If only Irina had come, too," she adds. "Do you really think she'll forgive me?"

"Of course she will, as soon as she realises that Laurent was the bad guy."

She smiles at my terminology, then sighs. "Poor Irina. Was she in love with him?"

"Not exactly. He stood out for her; she liked him more than she'd ever liked any man."

"Ever?" she murmurs. When I nod, she reaches up and strokes her fingers through my hair. "I already knew how lucky we are—but we're _really_ lucky."

"The understatement of the year," I tease.

"I was trying not to sound _too_ smug."

" _Too_ late."

She laughs and waves a hand through the air by my shoulder, in a symbolic slap.

"Mea culpa," I agree. "I've already told our entire family that we think our love is better than theirs." She does a double take at that, and then we both laugh. "I didn't exactly express it in those terms, but they all got the message."

"Today?" I nod. "That's okay," she assures me with a grin. "You're allowed to say things like that on your wedding day."

"Let's say I knew that rule," I joke.

She chuckles softly, and then rests her head against my arm.

"Sleep if you're tired," I encourage.

"Should I?"

"If you're tired," I agree smoothly, not giving away anything. "It'll be an hour till we get to the airport."

She hums softly, and a little frown flits across her brow (is she simply tired or undecided, or is she grumpy about gaining no further insight into our final destination?), but then she rests more of her weight on my arm and closes her eyes. She is quiet for almost two minutes before suddenly asking, sleepily, "Do you think Alice packed any of that champagne?"

"I don't know," I reply, chuckling. "Did I just marry a latent alcoholic?"

She scoffs quietly. "If you did, you can blame Alice… although I'd be just as happy with that apple lemonade."

"Hopefully she packed some of that," I say, hoping Alice heard me ahead of time if she wouldn't have included it herself. "If you're thirsty now, I've got water."

She nods, has a few sips, and then settles down to sleep.

The rest of the drive passes in an uneventful blur. Bella wakes as I'm pulling into Seattle airport. She chuckles when I drive right up to the check-in area and hand over the keys to a waiting valet, and then she eyes our two enormous suitcases with mingled curiosity and horror.

We move through the terminal in silence, just another ordinary couple in the crowd, but Bella can't resist commenting on our travel plans when we reach the departure gate.

"Houston?" she asks wryly, raising an eyebrow.

"Just a stop along the way," I assure her, grinning at her attempt at nonchalance.

She falls into a deep sleep on the plane, and I feel bad for waking her after we land. Alice was a little too clever with her timing, so I have to speed Bella through the terminals to get to our next flight; I think she actually falls asleep again on her feet at one point.

Fortunately, she looks a little more alert when we reach the check-in counter for our international flight, otherwise I think the assistant would've worried I'd drugged her.

"Rio de Janeiro?" she squeaks as we head to the departure lounge.

"Another stop."

Our timing is so perfect that we're able to walk straight onto the plane. Bella is too tired to be shocked by the opulence of first class; the moment we sit, she stretches out in the wide seat, relaxing into my arms. She sleeps through the entire flight, waking only as the plane begins its descent into the airport.

She seems surprised when I guide her outside and into a taxi, but keeps her thoughts to herself as I instruct the driver—in fluent Portuguese—to take us to the docks. She stares out the window at the noisy, teeming, vibrant streets of Rio, her first view of a truly foreign world. It is a night for firsts. That thought makes my whole body tingle with nervous energy. In less than an hour, we will reach our destination…


	13. Chapter 13

**Thirteen: Lover**

At the docks, I lead Bella down the long line of yachts to Esme's speed boat. After offloading our bags, I help her onto the deck. She watches in wide-eyed silence while I prepare the boat for departure, a little smirk playing across her lips. Is she amused by the thought of me using a boat—when I could comfortably swim anywhere I want to go—or is it something else?

"I haven't personally captained a boat before," I tell her, "but I know the principles, and Esme showed me everything I need to know about this particular vessel."

She laughs. "Will we be travelling far in it?"

"No," I reply, being deliberately vague.

She looks so adorably frustrated that I can't resist pulling her into my arms and pressing a kiss to her lips. She winds her arms around my neck, the mystery forgotten, and raises up on tiptoe to align our bodies more fully.

After a minute, I have to pull away—I want more (as before, my body seeks to rule my mind), and there's no way our first time is going to be on a boat (let alone on a boat docked at a public wharf!). "Half an hour," I murmur, reminding myself as much as informing Bella.

She is bemused for a second, and then she gets it. Her lips stretch into a wide grin and she urges me towards the boat's controls. "Take us away, captain," she jokes.

"At once, my lady."

She sits beside me while I start up the engine, and then asks if there's room for her on my lap. I'm a little surprised, but just as eager to have her in my arms. Her hair is already sticking to her forehead in the heat, so she eagerly welcomes my chill, draping an arm around my neck and pressing her side against my chest.

The moment we're in open water, I open the throttle. It's not the same as racing along on my own two feet, or even shooting down the highway in my Vanquish, but it is a thrill all of its own. The water adds an invigorating element. Looking for the patterns in the waves is fun, and I make constant, small course adjustments to smooth our passage to the island.

As we leave the lights of Rio behind us, Bella alternates between staring up at the star-studded sky, gazing out across the vast ocean in front of us, and smiling at me.

When we're halfway, for a bit of fun, I dare to go a little faster, sending the boat plunging through the waves and showering us with sea spray. Bella laughs and holds out a hand to catch even more of the pleasantly warm water.

I can already see the island that is our destination, but I have to wait another 12 minutes until I think her eyes will be able to see it, too.

"Bella, look there," I say, pointing straight ahead.

She peers ahead, apparently not seeing anything, despite the moon's bright trail across the water silhouetting the squat, irregular triangle of island. After seven seconds, however, her eyes begin to scan the island's shape.

"Where are we?" she murmurs, her voice full of wonder, as I steer us to the north end of the island.

"This is Isle Esme."

I slow down sooner than necessary to allow her a minute to explore a little of the island with her eyes. She won't be able to see any detail, but her vision is good enough to see the palms swaying in the gentle breeze and the white-sand beach shining in the light of the moon. As we come alongside the short wooden dock, she gazes in wonder at the gleaming sand.

When I switch off the engine, the relative silence is profound. It is truly wonderful to be alone with Bella without hearing any voices in my head (of course, I would rather have _her_ thoughts in my head) or indeed any sound of human activity.

She takes a deep breath, obviously enjoying the warm, fragrant air, and then says, "Isle _Esme_?"

"A gift from Carlisle—Esme let us borrow it."

As expected, Bella is shocked by the extravagant gift. "The whole _island_?"

I nod. "Carlisle purchased it in nineteen-thirty-eight." While mooring the boat, I tell her the story of how he saved the life of the Brazilian president's daughter. She is less than impressed by the dictator's decree that enabled the transaction, so I distract her with the detail that this is my first time on the island, too.

After setting the suitcases on the dock, I turn back for Bella. We are officially here. Alongside my reawakening nerves, I feel an undeniable thrill. My lips stretch into a wide smile and I can't resist sweeping her into my arms.

"Isn't it supposed to be the _house's_ threshold?" she quips, as I leap from the boat.

"I'm nothing if not thorough," I reply, and she rewards me with a laugh.

Cradling Bella in one arm, I grip the handles of both trunks in my free hand and carry her up the dock and onto the pale sand pathway.

Although I've never been here before, I've seen every inch of it in my family's thoughts. Esme and Carlisle make regular trips, at least once a year, and my siblings have all visited on special occasions, but I have a feeling that Bella and I are going to love this place as much as Esme does. In the future, when we can swim to paradise in a matter of hours, why wouldn't we come here every other month? Esme might even let us stay here during Bella's newborn phase.

The house is hidden by thick vegetation for a minute, but I soon see a glimmer of artificial light marking the front door; the housekeepers have left the porch light on for us.

At the point at which I guess Bella can see the door, her heart thuds loudly against her ribs and her breath catches in her throat. I look down at her, but her gaze is focused on the house. I remember Esme's sage advice—our nerves are natural, and Bella's don't mean that she is _afraid_. But then she looks up at me and there's no hint of nerves in her eyes, only exhilaration.

Without looking away from her penetrating gaze, I place the suitcases on the wide porch and then open the doors. When I lean down to kiss her, she lifts her lips to meet mine halfway. Her heart bursts into a sprint the moment our lips touch, so I do my best to keep it short and sweet, distracting myself by stepping across the threshold before pulling away.

She strokes the nape of my neck in a gesture of comfort, a smile playing across her lips, and then takes her eyes off me to survey the large entrance hall. When she goes to get down, I tighten my arms around her, making it clear I'm not ready to release her yet. She giggles quietly and happily relaxes back into my arms, so I take great delight in carrying her on a tour of the whole house—all 4,000 square feet of it. I'm sure she realises I'm stalling, but perhaps she doesn't mind because she is as enamoured of the house as I'd hoped.

I leave the master bedroom for last. The room is large and white, which nicely matches our wedding, and the far wall is mostly glass, so it feels like an extension of the family home in Forks. Except, instead of towering forest, there is white sand and glistening water on the outside of the glass. Bella's eyes flit around the room too quickly to really take it all in before coming to rest on the enormous bed, hung with billowy clouds of mosquito netting, in the centre of the room.

A thousand images flash through my mind—I could shred our clothes in the second it would take to reach the bed; I could sink to the ground and settle between her legs; I could press her up against the wall; I could hold her right here in my arms and ravish her. Except now that I can actually do any one or all of those things— _will_ actually do—my brain feels like it's short-circuiting.

Am I really ready for any of that? And what does _Bella_ want? I won't let my lust overrule her part in our lovemaking.

So I set her gently on her feet. "I'll… go get the luggage," I murmur, scrambling to figure out the protocol for this moment. I am no longer stalling; I'm panicking.

Bella's heart slows as I depart, but I still feel the rush of having her in my arms—the rush of anticipation at our first time together. Every movement of my body feels weirdly exaggerated. Every sense is heightened. I feel the air brushing across my skin as I move, the micro-droplets of water condensing on my cool skin; and Bella's heartbeat sounds more powerfully in my ears than the gentle surf, or the little cries and screams of the island's other inhabitants.

 _How many beats does it have left?_

But that question is too big for this moment. The thought of harming her is only a little more frightening than the thought of disappointing her. I promised I would try, so the true test is yet to come—but I stopped before I killed her last time, so I will trust myself to stop now, if I must.

Before the panic truly sets in, I focus on my original plan. To take her for a relaxing, moonlight swim… A _naked_ swim in the moonlight… The anticipation sets my whole body buzzing, suppressing my nerves.

When I return to the bedroom, Bella is idly stroking the netting surrounding the bed. I've only been gone seven seconds, but there is already sweat on the nape of her neck.

I stroke a finger across the clammy skin. "It's a little hot here," I say, feeling self-conscious. "I thought that would be best."

"Thorough," she murmurs under her breath, and I let out a nervous chuckle.

"One less thing to worry about."

She turns and winds her arms around my neck. "There's nothing to worry about here," she murmurs. Her pulse is already quickening once more.

"Would you like to take a midnight swim with me?" I ask, swallowing my nerves and my desire before either can overwhelm me. "The water is very warm—this is the kind of beach you approve of."

"I was going to have a shower," she murmurs, "but the ocean sounds much nicer right now."

I nod, and she slides her hands down my shirt front and starts undoing the buttons. I want to reciprocate, to unzip her dress, but I feel like I'll rip the dress apart if I move.

Bella feels my nerves and pauses in her task. She takes my hands and moves them to her hips. "Don't overthink it," she advises. "Do what feels right—do what you usually do, and we can figure out the rest together. It's not really that different from what we've done already… Only different in your mind."

"Are you quoting Yoda?"

She chuckles. "I thought it felt familiar. Does it make you feel better?"

"No," I mutter petulantly, and she chuckles again as she finishes off the rest of my shirt buttons.

She nudges the sleeves off my shoulders and the fabric glides down my arms and bunches at my wrists. While she kisses my bare chest, I spare a fraction of my attention to lift my hands, one at a time, to free them from the shirt—and then I grab her waist and pull her against me. She is right; this is reassuringly familiar. I capture her lips with mine and we kiss for a long, pleasure-filled minute.

Bella feels the erection forming in my pants and giggles, breaking our kiss. She presses herself even more tightly against me and I expect her to reunite our lips, but then she pulls back. "Hold that thought," she murmurs. "I need a human minute or two."

I nod to hide my impatience. "I'll wait for you in the water."

She grins and then heads over to the open door of the en-suite bathroom. I watch her go, fighting the urge to follow. But listening to her rapt gasp as she enters the enormous en suite is just diverting enough to keep me on track; I imagine the wall of mirrored glass is the reason for her awe and smile to myself at the scene.

Leaving my trousers on for now, I exit the bedroom via the French door that leads straight out onto the beach. Out here, beneath the star-filled sky and the bright moon, time seems to stand still. Bella's heartbeat marks out the seconds of eternity.

When I finally shed my clothing, the warm breeze is an unexpected tease, so I dash the dozen or so yards to the water. The silken water envelops my feet and I pause to appreciate its warm embrace. After a second, I walk slowly onwards, enjoying the gentle brush of the light swell as it rises up my legs. I stop at waist height so that Bella doesn't have far to go to join me. This moment feels so separate from the rest of my life that it's easy to focus on the present and not let my nerves resurface. When I close my eyes, it's like a form of meditation: Bella's heart and the water's gentle caress are the only two things I focus on—the only two things in the world.

I open my eyes when, three eternal minutes later, Bella walks back into the bedroom. Her footfalls are steady, but her heart is already starting to race as she makes her way across the room. I turn, not wanting to miss a moment, and smile at her attire—a fluffy white towel.

As she steps out onto the sand, I wait with baited breath for my first sight of her naked form. She strides across the beach towards me, a blush blossoming across her cheeks but otherwise appearing wholly confident. Her heart stutters as she stops by my trousers, though, and I suddenly realise I'm not being fair—she can't see all of me—so I force my eyelids closed and bow my head. The sound of the towel hitting the sand sends a powerful rush of desire coursing through me. It takes every ounce of will to keep my eyes shut.

She starts walking again, faster this time, so I only have to wait seven seconds for her to reach the water. She makes a soft, happy sound as the warm water embraces her feet and then starts forwards at a maddeningly languid pace. (It's easier to bear when I remind myself of my own enjoyment of that moment; I am happy that Bella is as taken with the island as I am.)

"Edward," she murmurs when she is just over a yard away, and I look up at once, opening my eyes.

The sight of her bare breasts goes straight my erection and _then_ to my brain. I watch in awe as they gently rise and fall with each step, with each quiet breath, divine in their perfection. It is several seconds before I manage to tear my eyes away from them to meet Bella's gaze, so I'm relieved by her satisfied smirk. _You're allowed to stare at your wife's breasts_ , I remind myself exultantly.

My lips don't respond to my desire to smile in return; they wait to fulfil their sole purpose—to fuse with Bella's. When I raise my hand to stroke her cheek, the starlight and moonlight paint our skin with such a complementary hue that we almost match. I slide my hand down the slender column of her neck, gently drawing her forwards that last step.

It feels like we're touching for the first time. Her heart is hammering loudly, calling to me.

The moment I wrap my arms around her, she boldly wraps her legs around my waist. Our lips meet and our bodies slide together, skin against skin, in perfect harmony. My impatience vanishes as I revel in this moment and the ones that will follow, as we share all that we are with each other.

She moans lustfully as we move with practised ease. Because I'm holding her, her hands are free to roam, but it's what she's doing with her hips that almost undoes me. With nothing in between us, her throbbing flesh caresses mine as she grinds herself against me. A small shift of my hips and a short thrust, and I would be inside her. But I want to make sure that she's entirely ready—and I don't want to begin in the water—so I do my best to enjoy the sensations without anticipating what comes next. When her movements become more insistent and we're both panting into each other's mouths, I walk us out of the water and back to the bedroom, where we can move without restriction.

The water droplets on her skin are too tempting; I set her on her feet and then kneel in front of her and lick them off her stomach. The salt water with a hint of sweat is curiously pleasant, so I use my tongue to wipe the water off her warm skin, resting my hands on her hips so she can't move unexpectedly.

She moans and buries her fingers in my hair, and then steps closer, pressing her thighs against my chest. From this position, the scent of her arousal is overwhelming; I can't resist sliding one hand lower, down the side of her thigh… and then up the inside. Her body trembles beneath my fingers; it is desire, not weakness, but she feels so fragile that I almost change my mind—but I remind myself of my promise and concentrate on my awareness of her body.

Bella gasps and then moans, shifting her hips ever so slightly to encourage my explorations—but my courage fails so I shift my hand back to her hip and press my lips more firmly against her abs.

She doesn't let me stall this time. " _My_ turn," she murmurs, using her grip on my hair to push my head back.

I move with her willingly, but I'm not quite sure what she wants me to do. "How do you want me?" I ask, hoping that's an appropriately sexy way to ask her what she wants.

She looks down at me, eyes wide and dark, her cheeks flushing deeper. "Lie back," she murmurs breathlessly.

As I obey, she shifts her hands from my hair to my chest and straddles my hips. Her left buttock grazes my erection as she settles into place, making my whole body convulse with lust. She grins at me and then kisses my throat. I tip my head back further, letting her do as she pleases, and she kisses up to my jaw and then down to my chest, leaving a trail of warmth down to my collarbone.

I feel her weight shift as she tilts her body, but I'm still taken completely by surprise when a hand suddenly wraps around my erection. The feeling of her bare hand on my naked flesh is indescribable. I tense, freezing lest I lose control.

"You okay?" she checks, no doubt reacting to my sudden frown.

"Yes!" I gasp out, and she chuckles breathlessly.

She slides her hand down my shaft, her grip tightening sporadically, and I can barely contain the primal need I feel to bury myself inside her. My desperation pleases her. She gives me a coy smile. "I'm ready," she murmurs, releasing my shaft and sliding her hands up my torso.

"Me, too," I agree, lifting her onto the bed.

She wraps her arms around my neck as we stretch out on the soft sheets, tilting her pelvis to help guide me on my way.

I have never been more glad of my perfect memory than I am in the moment that we unite our bodies. My mind catalogues every mill of my progress within her tight heat, building and amplifying the already intense pleasure. The scent of her blood pulls me out of the moment briefly, but the mingled scent of her arousal reminds me that this is a wound she insisted I cause—and one that is part of what it means to be a woman.

I use that scent to focus me, to regulate my lustful body, which wants to take control, to rule my mind. So I move as little as possible while her body adjusts to my intrusion, letting Bella take the lead and trying not to lose my head with every glorious shift of her body against and around mine.

When I am fully ensconced within her, we both still. It is almost a shock how perfectly we fit together, but that thought is insignificant compared to the sheer power of this moment. Staring into her eyes, I feel the sweetest sensation, as if I can see into her mind—and she feels the same intense love and joy and passion that is filling me. We are one.

But I can't remain still for long. Her warmth and her thrumming pulse and the way her muscles spasm around me are too irresistible. When I join our lips, she responds eagerly, gasping into my mouth as she encourages me to thrust with a wiggle of her hips.

I thought I was prepared for this moment, but the withdraw only fires my lust and the desire to sheath myself within her. I have to fight the urge to ram inside her, trying to control my movements without resorting to envisaging the awful consequences if I were to unleash my full passions. When I feel my control slipping, I grab the headboard instead of her body. It creaks under the strain of my too-strong grip and I try to loosen my hold. Bella doesn't seem to mind, though, so I vent my bone-crushing passion through this raucous avenue. The wood snaps beneath my fingers, and I hastily shift Bella out of the path of any splinters.

She just giggles and wraps her leg around my waist, encouraging me to sit up further. I let her take control as we explore this new position, which changes the angle of our connection and makes us both moan at the myriad waves of pleasure her motion creates.

The next time I have to grab for the headboard, I inadvertently punch through one of the pillows, loosing a cloud of feathers when I pull my hand free.

Bella doesn't seem to notice as she sucks my neck at the point where it meets my shoulder, even as she works herself on my rigid shaft. I grab her buttocks and squeeze gently, creating another thrilling sensation, and her moans immediately rise in pitch. She grinds herself more insistently against me and I can tell that she is close to orgasm—that thought propels me over the edge. I freeze as my whole body shudders through wave after wave of violent contractions, unable to think beyond the need to stay as still as possible, forgetting even the reason why. Bella cries out with me, her body shuddering around mine, and the realisation that she is climaxing with me creates a second, even more intense feeling of ecstasy that prolongs my orgasm.

We collapse in a semi-regulated heap in the aftermath, both panting hard.

"I'm glad we waited," she murmurs contentedly, sliding a hand from my shoulder to cup my cheek. "That was perfect."

"Yes," I agree softly, although _perfect_ would be not breaking the bed or destroying pillows.

Before I can voice my joke, she pulls my lips back to hers and twists her hips, reinitiating our rhythm.

I could go on forever—almost literally—so I listen carefully to Bella's body. After our second pair of glorious orgasms, the sound of her panting changes; this time, she really is tired. I lie still for a moment, enjoying the gentle tremors of her body, before moving to separate our bodies.

"Don't stop," she murmurs, reaching down to catch my hip.

"You should rest," I murmur, stroking her back.

She grumbles wordlessly as she releases my hip, acknowledging her body's limits. We both groan as I withdraw, part gratified, part dissatisfied, and the very next moment, her fingers stroke across my stomach and then slide lower.

I catch her hand before it reaches its obvious target. "Sleep," I insist.

She gives me an impish grin that makes my erection throb with need, but before replying, she runs a hand through her hair. The action dislodges a number of feathers and she suddenly realises that we're lying in a pool of them. "Where did all these feathers come from?"

"I punched a pillow or two."

"You _punched_ Esme's pillows?" she asks, amusement and bemusement in her tone and expression.

"They got in the way."

"Of _what_?"

In answer, I simply point at the mangled headboard.

Her eyes widen. " _Wow_." When she looks back at me, her pupils are dilated and her pulse is starting to race. Does the show of uncontrolled strength excite her?

"Bella," I say as firmly as I possibly can when I'm just as close to surrendering to my own unsated desires, "you need to sleep."

"How about a quick shower first?" she proposes—and I know what she's thinking (because I'm thinking it, too), even before she says, "There's more than enough room for two."

I weigh my need to keep her in my arms against my self-control for half a second before deciding I can't let her out of my sight. " _Only_ a shower," I reply.

"Sure," she agrees lightly, entirely too blasé about my proviso, before sitting up. I sit up with her, hoping to hide my persistent erection for as long as possible.

I'm expecting the wall of mirrored glass in the palatial en suite, but the brand-new rainhead shower catches me by surprise, as does the large, clawfoot bath (the original space contained only a primitive showerhead over a simple bathtub). The rain showerhead pours out huge volumes of water, but I make sure Bella gets the majority of it. Her attention is equally centred on me, but with a different focus: refreshed by the water, she is eager for a third round. This time, I don't hesitate to kneel down and slide a couple of fingers inside her, using my fingers to pleasure her. When she tries to shift up another gear, I point out that I'd only smash the tiles the way I broke the headboard and she quickly surrenders to the rhythm of my fingers.

Her eyes start to drift closed before I've even switched off the water. "I love you," she murmurs as I wrap her in a fresh towel.

"As I love you," I reply, "Mrs Cullen."

She hums softly, sleepily, as I gently wring the water out of her hair, and then relaxes into my arms so I can carry her into the bedroom. She falls asleep before we've even reached the bed.

While she sleeps, I relive our lovemaking in my mind, revelling in it. Despite the constant fear of moving too rashly, it had been, without question, the greatest experience of my life. I listen to the steady thud of Bella's heart, the gentle hiss of her breath and mine, and the rush of the waves across the sand. The random little grunts and hoots of the animals throughout the island barely draw my attention; their struggles for life seem so far removed from our perfect reality. I am no longer one of them—a beast whose sole purpose is survival. I am free from such pedestrian needs. I am whole.

My high comes down to earth with an abrupt jolt in the middle of the night. As I'm trailing my fingers down Bella's arm, I notice a discolouration on her skin that wasn't there the last time I looked.

It is a bruise.

I immediately scan of the rest of her body and can barely contain my horror. There are bruises surfacing all over her alabaster skin.

I feel sick. How could I have thought I'd done _well_ when I've actually hurt her all over? And how badly did I hurt her inside? Did I make her bleed more than she should have?

Carefully, slowly, I examine her body, testing for signs of deeper injuries. It doesn't ease my agony when I find none. So I didn't break any bones? I still hurt her repeatedly, holding her tightly enough to wound.

In so many ways, what I have done is _worse_ than breaking her bones. The bitter truth is that I _could_ have been gentle enough. I let my focus on her bones—on the biggest risk—overshadow the reality of her infinitely more fragile skin. The negligence that caused this damage is unforgivable.

Through the rest of the night, the bruises steadily darken, making patterns across her skin—perfect reproductions of my hand- and fingerprints. Her body is a record of every move I made.

As I struggle to comprehend the extent of the damage I've caused, I focus on helping her to heal rather than allowing my guilt to completely paralyse me. To ease the swelling, I stroke my cold hands across her back, her neck, her arms, tending to each bruise while cursing myself for being so careless.

It is only as morning comes that I realise something else is wrong. Bella hasn't moved all night. She hasn't spoken a single word. If it weren't for the strength of her heart and breath, I would fear for her life—but one thing is clear: I didn't merely crush her, I completely exhausted her. She hadn't _seemed_ worn out, but perhaps adrenaline had carried her beyond endurance.

Adrenaline no doubt dulled the pain, too. When she awakens, she is going to have a hard time of it. I know she won't give _me_ a hard time, though; she'll make excuses for my inexcusable negligence.

While I replay my memories again, this time focusing on my bruising grasp, the sun makes its way into our room. I hadn't noticed that its rays lay across Bella—everything seems dark now, as dark as the bruises on her body—but, eventually, the light wakes her.

She doesn't move for a long moment. I wait as long as I can to ask how she is—to ask how badly I have hurt her. But I can't get the words out, so I lift one hand and gently stroke my fingers down her spine, along one of the few places not marred by my assault.

She responds immediately, tightening her arms around my neck and pressing herself against me. Then, unbelievably, she lets out a chuckle.

"What's funny?" I murmur, my need to know what she's thinking trumping my horror.

Her cheeks and neck flush with colour, but her stomach growls before she gives me an answer.

She laughs again. "You just can't escape being human for very long."

I struggle to understand her meaning. She is _amused_ by her pain? I look up at the ceiling, too furious at myself to speak. Of course she would blame her own weakness for the damage I've caused.

She props herself up on her elbow to see my face. I don't look at her; I can't move. I am paralysed by guilt and self-loathing.

"Edward," she says, a distinct note of fear in her voice. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Her distress is the only thing that could shake me out of this despondency. I'm not sure why she needs me to explain, but perhaps she is hoping to somehow downplay her injuries. "I hurt you," I murmur, meeting her concerned gaze.

She frowns in what appears to be genuine confusion. "What?" she asks, sounding genuinely startled.

She is not usually such a good actress; I'm even more confused. "Bella, you're covered in bruises."

She looks down at herself and her eyes widen as she sees what I'm talking about. Her gaze follows the trail of bruises along her collarbone, across to her mottled shoulder and then down her discoloured arm. To pre-empt any attempts at arguing away their cause, I lay my hand against the bruises on her forearm, one at a time, matching my fingers to the incriminating patterns.

"I'm… so sorry, Bella," I whisper, though any apology is meaningless given what I have done to her. "I knew better than this. I should not have—" I break off, my words ending in a guttural growl as my anger at my failure rejects the pointless words.

And then Bella rejects my apology. "I'm _fine_ , Edward. Trust me, this is really nothing." She brushes her fingers along her battered arm with a deliberately cavalier gesture. Her ability to dismiss her own pain seems boundless. I have never hated myself more than I do right now. This is _my_ fault—not the monster's. Mine. "You know I bruise easily."

I flinch. Yes, I knew that. I did know better, and yet I've marked her all over with my careless grasp. She sits up, tensing ever so slightly as her wounded body protests the move, and then takes my face in her hands.

"Edward," she murmurs. "You were amazing. Last night was… _incredible_ —a million times better than I'd dreamed it could be."

"For me, too," I agree, lest my remorse make her doubt that. "I thought I'd done everything right—until the bruises started appearing."

"You _did_ do everything right," she insists. "If you'd held me too tightly, I would've told you."

"If I hadn't, you wouldn't be black and blue."

"If I am, that's _my_ fault," she retorts.

I don't want to make her angry—I had anticipated this sort of reaction—so I stroke her forehead, trying to smooth out the frown lines. "I'm sorry."

She sighs and leans forward to kiss me. I return the kiss, but when she tries to slide her hand beneath the sheet I've wrapped myself in, I pull away, unable to trust myself.

"Please don't," I murmur.

"Don't what?" she asks petulantly. "I'm not allowed to touch my husband?"

I have never felt like such a failure. "Of course you are," I murmur, forcibly relaxing my body, though I don't know how to walk the line between pleasing her and not causing her further injury.

My capitulation irritates her; she sits back, muttering, "I feel like I'm—"

When she doesn't finish the thought, I fight the urge to ask; whatever she's feeling, she's clearly, and understandably, frustrated. "I'm sorry."

"Stop that," she murmurs. Then she strokes my temple and down the side of my face with such a light touch that _I_ feel like the fragile one (although, mentally, I am). "We knew this was going to be tricky," she says, her voice deliberately gentle, cajoling. "I thought that was assumed. And then—well, it was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I think for a first time, not knowing quite what to expect, we did amazing. With a little practice—"

"No," I interrupt, struggling to speak around the fury that she had been _prepared_ for me to hurt her even more than I did. Had she been expecting broken bones? "I hurt you. I can't take that risk again. It was wrong to—"

"Don't say that," she snaps. "It wasn't wrong."

I don't know what to say—except to apologise again, and she's made it clear she's sick of that—so I say nothing. She stares at me, perhaps waiting for an answer, perhaps making plans. I wish I knew.

And then she abruptly throws her hands up in frustration. "Why can't you just read my mind already?" she bursts out. "It's so _inconvenient_ to be a mental mute!"

I'm stunned by the outburst. "That's a new one. You love that I can't read your mind."

"Not today."

I stare at her, trying futilely to understand what's going on inside her head. "Why?"

"Because all this angst would be completely unnecessary if you knew how I feel right now! I'm not sore. I'm _happy_. Or I was five minutes ago, anyway. Now, I'm sort of pissed, actually."

"You _should_ be angry at me."

"Well, I am. Does that make you feel better?"

The explosion of emotions her sarcasm inspires almost takes me by surprise (because I didn't think I could be any angrier at myself than I already was). Two thoughts hit me at once: a straight answer to her question— _Do you really think_ anything _could make me feel better right now?_ —and the realisation that I'm making her unhappy.

I can't let her see any more of my remorse or self-reproach; she doesn't deserve it, and she'll only take the blame upon herself. If I didn't already have proof of that, her question would be enough on its own—because, underneath the sarcasm, she really _is_ trying to make _me_ feel better. When that should be _my_ duty. "Of course not, Bella," I murmur, keeping my voice low because that makes it easier to sound calm. "I will do anything to make up for what I've done."

She huffs in exasperation. "That's the problem right there—I don't want you to _make up for it_. I want you to do more of it!"

I can't help cringing as my guilt finds a new point of attack: I hurt her out of carelessness and now I'm going to hurt her again out of cowardice—because I can't risk failing again.

She sees my pain—of course she does—and frowns. "You didn't do anything wrong," she insists. "I loved every second of it. So you are not allowed to be miserable. _I've_ never been so happy in all my life—I wasn't this happy when you decided that you loved me more than you wanted to kill me, or the first morning I woke up and you were there waiting for me… Not when I heard your voice in the ballet studio—" I flinch at the memory of that awful moment, but she barely pauses—"or when you said 'I do' and I realised that, somehow, I get to keep you forever. Those are the happiest memories I have, and last night was better than any of them—than all of them put together."

I believe her (the same is true for me), but she is only clouding the real issue—the fact that one of those moments includes the most pain she has ever felt doesn't ease my guilt. I touch the frown line between her eyebrows. "I don't want to make you unhappy."

"Then don't _you_ be unhappy. That's the only thing that's wrong here."

I can't agree with that judgement, but I also don't want to continue the argument. I take a deep breath and nod. "You're right. I won't mention it again. I'll do whatever I can to make you happy."

She scrutinises my face suspiciously, so I give her my most serene smile.

"Whatever makes me happy?" she repeats, no doubt lining up to persuade me to try again, no matter how bad a shape her body is in—but her stomach growls as she speaks, so I leap at the opening.

"You're hungry," I point out, slipping out of bed; though I move smoothly, I still stir up a cloud of feathers.

She chuckles at the feathers and sits up. She is so beautiful and she looks truly happy, despite the ugly blemishes all over her body. When she looks up at me, her bright eyes and wide smile help me find a smile of my own.

Instead of getting out of bed, as I expect, she holds out her hand for me. Before obeying her unspoken request, I quickly detour to my suitcase and pull on a pair of loose khaki pants and a white tank top. She purses her lips, but doesn't comment as I take her hand and assist her in reaching the floor (the bed is higher than I'd realised). The feathers float up around us like snowflakes—or bleached leaves.

She holds tightly to my hand as she gives a contented sigh and then stretches. The tightness in her body is even more apparent, as are the deep bruises covering her torso. I gasp at the full extent of her injuries, looking away before she can see the horror and fury in my expression.

"Can't look without wanting more?" she teases.

My breath catches in my throat, but I don't turn back. I can't control my expression.

After a moment, she walks over to her suitcase, pulling me with her. There are a few feathers caught in her hair, so I start extricating them while she rummages through the clothes Alice packed for her. My eyes scan her beautiful and battered body over and over like a masochist, as the sight feeds both my desire for my beautiful wife and my self-loathing.

Neither her breathing nor her heart rate reacts to the awful sight she must be seeing as she dresses herself, choosing a wrap-around dress with a high neck and billowy sleeves that conceal most of her injuries. She really had been prepared for this possibility. She had anticipated that I would hurt her. The bruises probably seem like a minor consequence. It sounds so ridiculous, it's probably true.

I pretend not to notice when she leans in for a kiss. "Let's find you some food," I say cheerfully as I gently guide her from the room.

She can't entirely stifle her sigh. I share her sadness. I've ruined our honeymoon.

At least I can cook her something good to eat. "Prepare to be wowed by my culinary expertise," I announce as we enter the kitchen, hoping she'll let me serve her.

That hope is bolstered when she leans against the end of the bench and watches on while I look through the cupboards. I'm pleased that the housekeepers have listened to Esme's request and supplied us with every sort of food I can imagine. "Omelette?" I suggest.

"Okay," she agrees curiously.

I pull out a frying pan and turn up the heat, then ready the ingredients, starting with a pack of bacon. I've never seen Bella cook the stuff, but I know she likes it—she only avoids buying it for the sake of Charlie's health—so I use the various tips I've picked up from watching top chefs on the Food Network. Bella's tastes are relatively simple, so I only use a couple of herbs and a touch of pepper.

After peeling and chopping up a handful of mushrooms, I start grating some cheese when I estimate that the bacon is 40 seconds away from being done. Her stomach growls, and I'm reminded that she hasn't had a proper meal in over a day. "Not much longer," I say, pleased that I can at least take care of this one of her body's needs.

I crack a couple of eggs into the mix of cheese, mushroom, and herbs, then tear up some of the bacon into smallish pieces and toss it into the mixture. There's enough for two large omelettes, so I pour half the mix into the pan, add some spinach and other fillings, and then fold it in half and flip it over to finish it off.

Before I've even got it onto a plate, Bella grabs a knife and fork and sits in the nearest metal chair of the little, tiled dining table. As soon as I set the plate down, she starts scoffing up the hot food. I'm a little worried that it hasn't cooled down enough yet, but I'm not really sure how to judge.

I sit down in the chair across from her. "I'm not feeding you often enough."

She swallows and then says, "I was asleep. This is really good, by the way. Impressive for someone who doesn't eat."

"Food Network," I reply, flashing the smile that always makes her heart speed up—or skip a beat.

She smiles back, and I tell myself that it's about Bella being happy enough to smile, not whether or not I deserve her smiles (because I don't). "Where did all this come from?" she asks.

"Esme asked the cleaning crew to stock the kitchen. A first for this place. I'll ask them to deal with the feathers when they next visit." I wonder what I can possibly say to explain the mess, before deciding that any explanation will only emphasise the strange elements. (I make a mental note to check the headboard for finger impressions before they arrive.)

Her brow twists quizzically. "You can't just clean it up yourself?"

"Don't need to," I reply, wondering if she'll let me avoid the question. "You can sleep in the blue room."

Her eyes narrow at that; she hasn't missed the deliberateness of my phrasing. But she is clearly too focused on breakfast to argue right now. When she's almost finished, I prepare a second omelette, using up the remaining ingredients; there's a little too much filling, but I arrange it as nicely as possible on the plate. Bella doesn't stop eating until everything is gone. Before I can ask if she wants more, of that or something else, she thanks me and leans across the table to kiss me.

I kiss her back automatically, but my body reacts to the touch of our lips, demanding more. I stiffen and lean away.

Bella grits her teeth. "You aren't going to touch me again while we're here, are you?" she accuses.

I hesitate, then raise my hand to stroke her cheek. My body reacts even to this light touch, but I force myself to endure it and calm down, knowing Bella will test me further—and then she confirms it by leaning her face into my palm.

"You know that's not what I mean," she grouses.

I sigh and drop my hand. "I know. And you're right." I pause to give my next words maximum conviction. "I will not make love with you again until you've been changed. I will never hurt you again."

Though my phrasing is off—changing her will cause her agony almost beyond endurance—I know she won't misunderstand me.

She puckers her mouth and frowns, but I meet her stare with an unrelenting one of my own. I wait for her to argue—maybe even to try bargaining—but after staring me down for almost a whole minute, she sighs and looks across the room to the beach outside. I don't let down my guard, even though she seems to have accepted that there's nothing she can do right now, because I know she will try again.

To make the most of the time I have now, I present her with a list of options for the afternoon—all designed for maximum exertion. Snorkelling; hiking through the small jungle that rings the rocky little peak; exploring the south end of the island and the rocky western cove.

For three days, my plan works (but only because Bella gives me the time). We spend her waking hours exploring this tropical paradise and its coral reefs, submerged caves, and sea turtles. She demolishes every meal I make for her, then all but collapses into bed come evening—more than once, she actually falls asleep at the table and I have to carry her to bed. The comatose-style unconsciousness still unnerves me, but I'm _trying_ to exhaust her physically so it's not as though it doesn't make sense.

Whenever she raises the subject of our failed intimacy, which is every few hours or so, I give the shortest response possible. But her tactic is a cunning one: instead of focusing her energies on convincing me to try again, she waxes lyrical about how amazing it was, forcing me to agree. Then, once the bruises have begun to fade, she starts dressing in the outrageous lingerie Alice included for her. (If Alice saw why she'd want it, she and I will be having words when we get home!) I do my best to pretend the sexy little outfits don't affect me, but it takes every ounce of control not to let my eyes linger on the teasingly exposed patches of skin—even while she's sleeping.


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen: Partner**

On the morning of our fourth day on the island, after a quirky breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and tropical fruit, Bella proposes we go for a swim. And then she strips off the sexy blue night dress she was wearing and pulls on a one-piece swimsuit the like of which I've never seen. Held up by her right shoulder, it zig-zags across her body, wrapping around her left side at the waist and leaving the other side fully exposed. The hipster briefs scarcely cover the patch of curls at her groin, and the shiny fabric is stretched so tight across her breasts that it looks to have fused with her skin.

My mouth feels dry; I barely stop myself from swallowing, which is such a rookie move that I know I'm in real trouble.

She smirks at my obvious enthrallment. "What do you think?" she purrs, stepping back to do a little pirouette so I can see that her back is covered only by a narrow band running from right shoulder to left hip.

I can't look away. Despite the faint hand- and finger-shaped marks still patterning her torso, my desire for my gorgeous wife has my whole body tingling. I imagine taking her in my arms, shredding the little swimsuit as we let our passions rule. I have to clear my throat before I can speak, but the words come out perfectly even. "You look beautiful. You always do."

She isn't remotely surprised by my response; when I look in her eyes, I get the feeling she knows something I don't. Is this what the deer feels like when it looks up just in time to see the lion pounce?

"How are you feeling now?" she asks softly.

"About what?" I ask, unwilling to second guess her but even more reluctant to admit to the lust that is coursing through me.

She doesn't answer for a moment, just continues to stare; I find myself wondering what she is seeing in _my_ eyes. How vulnerable do I seem right now? Then she says, "About taking back your ultimatum."

I feel the full force of her criticism. "I didn't mean it to be an ultimatum—you know that rushing you into the change is the _last_ thing I want—but I don't have a choice. I promised I would try, and I failed."

"No, you didn't," she insists, stepping up to me and taking my face in her hands. "You were brilliant. You just need to relax."

"It's not—"

She shifts one hand across my mouth, silencing me. "There's one thing I'm curious about," she says, instantly magnifying my nerves (which were already mounting). "Why did you break the headboard?"

The question is as startling as it is understandable, and as unwilling as I am to recall those frightening moments of uncontrolled passion, she deserves a considered response. It takes a second to work through my shame at the lapse in control, and then I take another second to analyse the specific feelings involved. "The rush of—let's call it adrenaline—became too intense to control and that was a way to release it before I did that to _you_. I almost crushed you."

"You know that's not true," she insists. "You managed it so smoothly, I barely noticed—you couldn't have done that if you were really on the edge."

Although there is logic in her argument, I think I actually broke the sound barrier on one of the times I punched through a pillow, so it's hardly surprising that my movements seemed smooth to human perceptions. But it's hard to think when she's so close to being naked, and standing so close that I can feel the energy radiating off her skin. I'd ask her to put on more clothes if it wouldn't expose my receptivity to her current state of dress (though her little smirk suggests she's fully aware of my struggles).

"The problem isn't that I ended up with bruises," she murmurs. "The problem is that you aren't listening to me. You need to remember what matters. From an outsider's perspective, our relationship seems pretty unhealthy because they don't know the truth, and now _you_ seem to have forgotten it. Ours isn't a normal marriage. Did you really think our first time was going to be like everyone else's?"

When she pauses, I realise she wasn't posing the question rhetorically. "No," I acknowledge, before my curiosity gets the better of me. "What were _you_ expecting?"

Her cheeks flush with colour even as she coyly bites her lip, being deliberately flirtatious. "I did wonder how _cold_ you might feel inside me—I kind of forgot about thermodynamics."

I have to laugh.

"How did it feel for you?" she asks.

" _Hot_ ," I reply immediately.

She laughs with me and I find myself relaxing—which feels wrong when I realise just how tense I was from holding myself back from her.

Can she feel that tension? The last thing I want to do is shut myself off from her, but I don't know what else I can do. "You're right that we're not like any other couple," I murmur. "I _want_ to give you all of me, but I can't—if I did, you'd get seriously hurt."

"When we were making love," she replies without hesitation, "I didn't feel like you were holding back—I know you had to focus every second on being careful, and I'm so grateful for that, but to me, it felt like there was nothing between us. In that moment, we were the same. We were one."

"It felt like that to me, too," I say, not wanting her to think that the effort of being careful had overshadowed my pleasure or that exquisite sense of oneness.

She beams at me, and her happiness cuts through the last barrier of my fear. She is right. I want to give her that feeling again—I want to share that feeling with her again. I don't know if she sees or can simply sense the change in me, but she throws her arms around my neck and locks her mouth on mine.

Her desperate passion sings through her lips and into mine. My response is automatic, instinctual, and I lose myself in her embrace, surrendering with a groan.

At first, I only kiss her, letting her undress me. Then, after she pushes me back onto the bed, I lie still, moving only when she moves me. She doesn't seem to mind, but my own unrest is rising fast. Now that we're going to make love again, I want to give in entirely. I want to make love to my wife—actively. I tighten my arms around her ever so slightly, trying to find the perfect balance between _just right_ and _too tight_.

And then it hits me—the epiphany; what Alice was trying to show me with my first set of coloured pencils. The line between _just right_ and _too much_ is so fine, I'll always be on the edge. There's no comfort zone, no learning how to maintain the balance automatically. When I realise that, I realise I've been trying to ignore the part of me that controls the strength of my grip, to make it an automatic thing, like playing the piano, or driving, or writing.

As soon as I change my strategy, to keep the pressure of each point of contact between us at the forefront of my mind rather than trying to focus on the contact alone, it suddenly doesn't seem so distracting. It actually takes _less_ concentration, because the fear of failure is lessening by the second, leaving me more space to think.

I dare to test my insight on the swimsuit. I slide a finger behind the strap across her back, testing the pressure of my grip for a moment before squeezing just beyond its capacity.

Bella gasps with delighted surprise as the top falls away, exposing her breasts. She arches her back, giving me an incredible view of her body, and I can't resist. I slide my hands up her sides and cup her breasts. My chill makes her already peaked nipples harden fully in seconds. She moans appreciatively and I can't wait any longer.

I know she's as ready as I am, so I tear the swimsuit briefs off her body and gently guide her into position. She moves eagerly, sinking herself onto me in the same motion, and I have to throw an arm back to catch the headboard as the pleasure engulfs me utterly.

This time, Bella notices. She laughs delightedly as I crumple the wood between my fingers and then she moans and splays her fingers out across my chest, pressing into my skin as she works her body over mine.

My whole body, my whole world, is passion and love and pure, transcendental ecstasy. We reach the heights of rapture within two minutes—but neither of us is remotely ready to stop. I still for a moment to give her a break, and then I roll us over and raise her back off the bed, cradling her head in my hand.

She either guesses what I'm thinking or is keen for it herself because she winds her legs around my waist without any prompting, so that her body is suspended beneath mine, touching only me. As we start to move again, I shift my other hand to the headboard so that I won't jolt her when I next need to brace myself.

After our third set of earth-shattering orgasms, Bella relaxes against me while I'm still inside her. When I go to withdraw, she murmurs a soft complaint, so I linger a little longer.

"I love you," she breathes.

"As I love you."

She falls asleep in moments, leaving me to ponder my newfound understanding. I still keep a close eye on the state of her body, but I can't help feeling confident that, this time, our coupling was a complete success.

It doesn't surprise me when she wakes after only an hour. For a second, she looks startled, as though it takes a moment to process the realisation that her memories are real; then she meets my gaze and bursts into a grin.

I speak first. "I'm an idiot," I declare, to show that I've learned my lesson.

"I thought we'd already established that," she teases.

"I guess I'm a slow learner when it comes to _relaxing_."

She laughs. "Not _that_ slow," she assures me, her lips curling into a definite smirk. "I've had more than one dream about making love to you, but you've improved on every one."

I don't know what to say, torn between intense pleasure and agonising remorse; she sees my shame and her expression softens. She stretches up and presses her lips to mine. The kiss is only gentle for a second before she winds her arms around my neck and presses herself against me. I want to capitulate, but I won't let her ignore her body's needs.

"Maybe you should rest a bit longer," I suggest.

"I just did."

"Only for an hour."

"An _hour_?" she exclaims, pulling back. "I feel like I've slept for _days_." She pauses for a moment, clearly reassessing her condition, and then smiles. "I've never felt more awake."

"Lunch first," I counter.

"I'm not hungry yet," she shoots back—except her stomach growls in protest before she can even move to reunite our lips. She glares down at the offending area, so I slip a finger beneath her chin and gently raise her eyes back up to mine.

"I'll be right here whenever you want me," I murmur, perhaps counterproductively, because her pupils react to my inadvertently suggestive pronouncement; but she reins in her lust after a moment, and her eyes sparkle as their chocolate warmth shines through.

"And I'll always be here for you," she replies. "Forever."

"Forever," I agree, my voice ringing with joy.

When she sits up, her eyes land on the scraps of swimsuit scattered around us. "That's too bad," she says, sounding only faintly disappointed; then she grins at me. "I suppose I'll have to swim naked."

"What a shame," I quip.

She chuckles, enjoying my levity a little more than it deserves (maybe because she's seen so little of it lately). When her eyes travel further afield, I wonder if she's checking for massacred pillows. My guess seems to be confirmed when she asks, "Were there any other casualties?"

"Only the headboard," I reply, glancing over my shoulder.

She follows my gaze and then giggles at the large chunks of wood gouged out of the left side. " _Oops_." Again, her pulse races as she views the destruction.

I can't resist touching her burning cheek. This fragile human body is a dangerous liability, but there's no denying its multiple compensations. "I love making you blush," I murmur, perhaps thoughtlessly.

But Bella simply smiles. "I was thinking," she says ominously. "You want to go to Dartmouth—" that is the last thing I expected her to say, but the hope immediately fills my chest—"and New Hampshire does sound interesting… and Charlie and Renée would be excited," she says, echoing my arguments from earlier in the year. "Sure, it might be embarrassing if I can't keep up with all the brainiacs. Still… eighteen… nineteen… Even twenty's really not such a big difference. It's not like I'm going to get crow's feet in the next couple of years."

It takes a moment to process what she is saying. In the past, she's made _twenty_ sound like the worst word in existence. "You'll wait?" I murmur. "You'll stay human for longer?"

She smiles. "I've finally found something that makes me want to be human a little while longer."

How many times have I wished she would say that? That she'll fall in love with college and we'll make it through an entire degree before she asks to join the ranks of the undead. The irony that her reason is _me_ is both intensely surprising and wonderfully thrilling. I have to laugh. "Sex was the key all along?" I quip. "Why didn't I think of that? I could have saved myself a lot of arguments."

She laughs. "I wish you had," she teases, leaning into a kiss.

I return the kiss gladly, too happy to remind her that we were supposed to be getting up—but Bella is more important, so after a minute, I manage to utter a few words about human food and human bodies probably needing a longer break.

"I'm not sore," she insists.

"At _all_? What about… inside?"

Her cheeks flush with heat. "I'm good to go," she murmurs coyly.

"But…" With no small degree of confusion, I remember Carlisle's warning about the unavoidable physical discomfort that almost always arises from a woman's first (and potentially first few) sexual engagements. The scent of her arousal confirms what she's saying, though; so, unless her brain is ignoring its pain receptors because the pleasure more than makes up for any discomfort (because it doesn't seem likely that she _likes_ a bit of pain), she _is_ ready.

"It was a little sore for a moment, the very first time," she says, furnishing my need for more information, "but that feeling went away in less than a minute, and never came back."

"Not even in the morning?"

"Not then. Not now."

As I analyse this near-total lack of physical discomfort she's describing, I find myself worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. Bella draws my attention to the nervous act by stroking a couple of fingers across my upper lip.

"It seems strange to me, too," she murmurs, "but I really am fine."

Forgoing a verbal response, because I believe her so there's nothing more to say, I take her hand in mine. I kiss her knuckles, and then the back of her hand, and then her wrist. She hums softly, encouraging me, so I kiss my way up her arm and across her clavicle.

This time, we start slowly, revelling in the deepening pleasure. But when we eventually unite our bodies, drawing out our coupling seems to be as far from her mind as it is from mine. I grab the headboard with both hands, only just refraining from shattering it entirely. My back arches up, pressing our chests together, while Bella grinds against me, gasping and moaning.

Our orgasms rush upon us both in less than a minute; in the aftermath, Bella giggles contentedly as she collapses onto me.

"Are we really _good_ at that," she jokes, "or really _bad_?"

I chuckle. "Definitely good."

"Yeah," she murmurs, "that's what I thought."

I would be happy to continue, but her stomach grumbles again so she sensibly decides to get up. She has a shower before getting something to eat, though, so I indulge her (and myself) in a second orgasm. As it had the other time I used my fingers to pleasure her, her climax triggers mine without my needing to even touch myself.

She doesn't bother to shampoo her hair, so we cuddle for a few minutes before switching off the water.

While she slips on a sundress, I pull on a pair of khaki, cotton shorts, foregoing my usual choice of less revealing clothing now that I don't need to worry about temptation. Then she tows me into the kitchen. She insists on doing the cooking, but all she does is fry up some eggs. She is obviously impatient, for she flips them onto a plate after just a few minutes.

"Since when do you eat eggs sunny-side up?" I ask, curious.

"Since now."

I let her away with the non-answer and vary the topic. "Do you know how many eggs you've gone through?" I lift up the trash bin from under the sink to show her that it's already over half full of empty blue egg cartons.

"Weird," she says, her mouth full of egg. "This place is really messing with my appetite." But she shrugs it off as she takes another bite. "I like it here, though." As she chews, her brows furrow. "When do we have to leave to get to Dartmouth on time? I guess we need to find a place to live and stuff, too."

Her matter-of-factness makes me smile; I can still hardly believe that she is actually going to have another few years of being human—that she'll get to experience college without all the limitations and frustrations I've always faced. "We're going to Dartmouth? Really?"

"I'll probably fail out in one semester."

"I'll tutor you if you need it," I reply, dismissing the groundless insecurity (and hopefully reassuring her); she really did make it into Dartmouth on her own merits. "You're going to love it there."

"Do you think we can find an apartment this late?"

"We already have a house in Hanover," I confess, anticipating the reprimand that's sure to follow. "You know, just in case."

"You bought a house?"

"Real estate is a good investment."

She raises an eyebrow—and then lets it go. "So we're ready, then," she says lightly.

I wonder if she'll be in a perpetually good mood from now on… How many other things can I get her to agree to?

"I'll have to see if we can keep your Mercedes for a little longer," I remark casually, testing the waters.

"Yes, heaven forbid I not be protected from tanks," she jokes.

I grin, thrilled by this new potential sway I have (and hopeful that she'll forgive me as easily for enrolling her at Dartmouth without her knowledge).

"How much longer can we stay?" she asks.

"We're fine on time," I assure her, wondering how long it'll be before she remembers about enrolment; I should probably pre-empt the realisation, but I want to reinforce the positive first. "A few more weeks, if you want. We can visit Charlie before we go to New Hampshire, and then spend Christmas with Renée…"

She smiles at my suggestions, and then her eyes drift out of focus as she finishes off the rest of the eggs. I wish I could know that she isn't thinking about Jacob. But if she is, confessing to my role in Alice's nefarious schemes is the last thing I want to do right now. I find myself wondering how he's feeling at this very moment. Does he think Bella is already a vampire? Or is he wondering whether or not I caused too much damage to be repaired? I'm glad I kept such thoughts at bay until now, when I think I've figured out how to avoid hurting her. Now I just have to figure out how to leave the furniture intact…

I ponder that problem, distracted only by the sound of an engine drawing near, until Bella refocuses on me.

"A few weeks," she agrees happily. Then she grins. "So, I was thinking… I didn't wash my hair properly just now. I should really have another shower…"

I laugh, wishing I could oblige her, but we'll have to be patient for a little while. "Can you hold that thought? I hear a boat. The housekeepers must be here." (I thought Esme had organised for them to visit weekly, but I wouldn't put it past her and Alice to send them out early.)

She screws up her nose and then glances down at herself, no doubt checking she's wearing enough clothing since we're about to have visitors. I smile, but as the thoughts of Gustavo and his wife Kaure invade my mind, I realise I've begun to take the mental silence here for granted. The next couple of hours are going to be irritating for both of us—worse if we don't get out of here.

"Let me explain the mess to Gustavo," I say, "and then we can go out. There's a place in the jungle on the south—"

"Sounds perfect," she agrees, her dark eyes promising a naked romp in the jungle.

Despite a slight tingle of lingering nerves, I am ecstatic that I can please my wife so well. "Why don't you start preparing a picnic while I get the door?"

"I didn't hear a knock."

Her timing is perfect; I tilt my head to the side, waiting, and a half second later, Gustavo raps on the door. I grin at her and then walk down the hallway, grabbing a t-shirt on the way to the door, listening to their contrasting thoughts even as I listen to Bella rinsing her plate and fork in the sink.

I greet the couple in Portuguese, thank them for being on time (it's not _their_ fault my family has a twisted sense of humour), and ask after their family. Gustavo answers for them both; Kaure is too anxious to speak—thanks to my youthfulness, I frighten her more than Carlisle and Esme combined. I smile without showing my teeth and keep my voice as smooth and gentle as possible, and I even deliberately hesitate and mispronounce a few words so as not to sound too fluent, which amuses Gustavo but doesn't ease Kaure's nerves.

As I lead them down the hallway to the living area, Gustavo describes the fresh supplies they've bought with them. I confirm that we'll take everything, and then step into the kitchen to join Bella, introducing her as my wife. A blush immediately blooms on her cheek; she's probably thinking about the mess the couple will soon encounter in the white room, but I like to think that it's more a sign of her pleasure at the title.

Gustavo smiles politely at her, but Kaure's thoughts scream with a brand-new kind of fear. She has never seen a human with one of us before, and she is gravely afraid for Bella's wellbeing. Her concern is touching, but her wide-eyed expression unsettles Bella, so I lead them away before she can dwell too long on the reason for the little woman's worries.

I explain that we'd like both bedrooms cleaned—mentioning the mess in the main bedroom so that they're prepared for it—as well as the bathroom and kitchen. Gustavo asks if we'd like any clothes washed, but I tell them next time and then return to Bella. I had planned to show them the bedrooms myself and perhaps to provide a little direction regarding how I want them to clean, but it has been so long since Bella and I were apart that I'm quite unprepared for how it feels. Their heartbeats interfere with the sound of Bella's in a way I'm no longer accustomed to. I have always missed her, but now it is more than that—as though a physical part of me is _literally_ missing.

The moment I have her back in sight, I wrap her in my arms. She doesn't seem to share my desperation—she welcomes my embrace but doesn't pause in filling the old-fashioned, wicker picnic basket we've been using on our trips around the island—so I wonder if it's a vampire thing. It's clear she is focused on Kaure.

"What's with her?" she whispers.

I shrug to show that I'm not worried. "Kaure's part Ticuna. She was raised to be more superstitious—you might call it more aware—than those who live in the modern world. She suspects what I am, or close enough. They have their own legends here. The _Libishomen_ —blood-drinking demons who prey exclusively on beautiful women."

She looks up at me, surprised, and I waggle an eyebrow to emphasise the point, making her flush with pleasure. "She looked terrified."

"She is—but mostly she's worried about you." I can't help chuckling as I listen to the woman's dark thoughts as she sweeps up the feathers. "She's afraid of why I have you here, all alone." I lean down and slide my lips down Bella's neck—except I have to stop before I stop caring about behaving for our guests. "How's the picnic coming? Gustavo has a box of fresh supplies for us, too."

Bella laughs. "Will a picnic convince Kaure that you're human?" she teases, turning to face me and throwing her arms around my neck as she stretches up on tiptoe.

I meet her halfway; though Kaure is near, I can't resist lifting Bella off the floor to pull her body more tightly against mine. She twists her fingers in my hair as I slide my lips down her throat.

Of course, that is the moment that the anxious little woman walks out into the hallway. She gasps when she sees us, and the image in her head is violent and bloody. I set Bella down on the floor. Kaure frantically scans her neck and arms, checking for bite marks, while Bella blushes and looks down. Her self-consciousness convinces Kaure that I haven't hypnotised her, and she struggles to understand how Bella can be ignorant of my inhumanness.

After satisfying herself that Bella is unhurt, she suddenly realises that she's being rude. She tries to argue away her concerns; after all, I introduced her as my wife, and why would I let them see her, let alone marry her, if I meant her harm? But she isn't entirely convinced by that logic (after all, what she fears _I_ am isn't logical). She murmurs a hasty apology, to which I reply that I should've warned them we were on our honeymoon.

The innocent comment refreshes her anxiety, but she turns away to take the sacks of feathers out to the boat.

"She was thinking what I think she was thinking, wasn't she?" Bella mutters.

I have to laugh at her convoluted phrasing. "Yes."

"Does Gustavo know she thinks—?"

"Yes, but he just thinks we're pale. He explains away all of our peculiarities with the fact that we're so rich, we have access to all sorts of 'miracle' creams and potions."

Bella ponders the matter for almost a minute, a little crease in her brow, before suddenly opening her mouth, so I tilt my head towards the hallway to let her know that Gustavo will be within hearing distance any moment. She nods and closes her mouth, leaving me to wonder what she was going to say.

When Gustavo walks in with the box of fresh meat, eggs, cheeses, and fruit, I thank him and then explain that we're going for a picnic (pretending not to know the word for it in Portuguese), so we'll sort through the box ourselves and he can go help his wife. Although he is fully aware of Kaure's concerns about my family—and thus understands her horror at "catching" me with a human—he doesn't see anything wrong in our relationship. Our happiness makes him feel happy, too.

After he leaves, I start unpacking the box. When I come across a round of soft cheese, I wave it through Bella's field of vision to see if she'd like to take it with us, but she makes a disgusted face.

"Ugh, that _reeks_ ," she declares. "What do they make it with here?"

It doesn't smell especially pungent to me, but I defer to her nose as being far more sensitive to the smell of food her taste buds won't enjoy than mine is. "Is that a rhetorical question or would you like me to look into it?"

She laughs. "Rhetorical," she agrees. Then she grimaces faintly. "Could we give it back without offending them?"

"We can leave whatever you don't eat for them," I assure her. "They'll clean everything out after we go home anyway."

She nods at that, but it's clear she's preoccupied with another thought. "When does the Dartmouth semester start?" she asks, explaining her distraction. "Is it the same as Alaska?"

"Actually," I reply, not bothering to disguise my smugness, "Dartmouth has a later start." When she grins, I decide to capitalise on this moment, admitting that we're currently enrolled at both Alaska and Dartmouth.

"You enrolled us at Dartmouth?"

"It was Alice's idea," I mumble, though I know it's no defence. When I start to apologise, she slaps a hand over my mouth and then laughs.

"Of course you did," she teases. "You wanted to keep my options open, in case I changed my mind—and I did. So it was sweet of you."

"Sweet?" I blurt, surprised by the assessment.

"And _very_ stalkerish—but not worse than sneaking into my room at night to watch me sleep." I bow my head contritely, without breaking eye contact, and she breaks her serious mien with a momentary grin. "Just promise you won't go behind my back ever again."

"I promise," I reply without hesitation. "I will tell you everything—including Alice's—"

"No," she interrupts. "Leave Alice to me." She gives me a quick kiss, then goes back to packing the picnic. After a minute, she asks, "How do you say _thank you_ in Portuguese?"

"I say _obrigado_ ; you say _obrigada_ —a more literal translation would be _I feel obliged_ , so the form changes according to the speaker's gender."

Her knowledge of Spanish means she understands perfectly. When the picnic is ready, she makes a point of waving to Kaure and thanking her before we leave the house. The little woman is heartened by Bella's self-assurance, and touched by her kindness. She waves back, reminding herself of Esme's equal kindness. (But that thought inspires the worry that Esme was once an innocent human girl just like Bella. Will I turn Bella into a monster before we leave the island? Does she know what lies in store? Kaure is not oblivious to the superficial advantages that could make my cursed life seem appealing to foolish mortals, but she can't imagine how a sweet girl would willingly choose the bloodthirsty life of a demon—until she realises that _love_ is the strongest driver of all. I wish I could reassure her, but there's nothing I can do beyond presenting the most peaceable demeanour I can manage.)

For the first half mile, Bella and I wind our way through the jungle in comfortable silence, enjoying the lush rainforest. I part the vegetation with one hand (and the picnic basket) so that we may walk hand in hand, not because Bella needs my support but for the joy of it. I'm convinced there's more to her surefootedness than the dry leaf litter and lack of slippery moss. Since we arrived on the island, she has become noticeably physically stronger, and I can't help thinking it's the climate as much as her greater confidence. She is truly a child of the sun.

"Will we move back into the white room now?" she asks, sounding delightfully content.

"I was thinking that," I agree. "I've already mangled the headboard in both rooms beyond repair, so it's too late to limit the destruction to one area of the house. Esme will never invite us back."

" _Beyond repair_ ," she repeats, smirking. "Is that a promise?"

Desire is written all over her face, and her scent makes my body react in kind. She stops walking and jumps into my arms. I drop the basket and wrap both arms around her. She pulls the t-shirt up my back and runs her hands all over my bare skin; I do the same with her dress, taking care not to rip the fabric because we have to allow for the possibility of running into our housekeepers again before they leave.

We kiss for a minute until Bella slides her hands in between us to indicate her readiness for more. Even before her feet touch the ground, she sets a hand on my abs and pushes me down to the ground; while I smooth out the leaf litter around us, she frees my erection. I lie back as she straddles my hips.

She strokes my shaft a little faster as she kisses her way down my chest, and then she sits up. Already panting hard, I watch as she lines up her centre with my erection and impales herself on my shaft in one smooth motion. There's no headboard for me to grab out here, so I direct the excess energy through my upper body and down into the springy ground beneath me.

When Bella tilts her hips and rocks against me, I shift my hips to meet her sexy little thrusts. We share a gratified moan as the euphoric sensations instantly multiply. We've employed this pose before, but out here, it feels so different—without the house around us, I feel truly free.

Bathed in natural light, Bella looks more like an angel than she ever has. How can this divine creature be mine? But she is, and I am hers, and together, we are the best we both can be.

Because my physical limits are so far beyond hers, I don't have to worry about climaxing early and leaving her unsatisfied—but my passions seem to give her as much of a thrill as hers give me, so we are soon crying out together in synchronous orgasm. As we shudder through our bodies' release, I can't help wishing I could experience her pleasure through her thoughts as well as her body—and then I meet her gaze, and her passions become so real to me that it's as though we _are_ communing telepathically.

For a single second that seems to stretch out into eternity, there is nothing between us. Bella smiles beatifically, somehow encapsulating the pure joy of an angel and the wantonness of a sex fiend. And then, as our orgasms pass, she grabs my hips and resumes our driving rhythm with a slight twist. My body responds to her direction like I'm slaved to her will. I love it.

She stretches out atop me after our second set of orgasms, so I relax back into the leaf litter, perfectly content to lie here with her forever if I could. (The chilly climates of Forks and Hanover are going to be a challenge after so long not having to worry about hypothermia!) After a few minutes' contented silence, she sits up a little way and glances around us. The lack of destruction—even her dress is still in one piece—makes her smile.

"Is it easier for you now?" she asks.

I nod. "I think I've realised where I went wrong," I reply, forgoing a teasing response. "I was trying to learn an automatic sense of how tight is too tight, but the moment I stopped thinking like that, it became easier to control myself, and I felt more confident."

A gratified smile spreads across her face. "I _told _ you it was all about practice."

I chuckle, remembering, with no small degree of fatalism, Alice's 'joke' about all the _I told you so_ 's Bella would earn on our honeymoon. Before I can ask if there's anything else she'd like to remind me about, her stomach growls. I laugh at the potential for _hunger_ to work as an answer to the question I haven't even asked yet. "Dinner  time for the human?"

"Isn't it way too early?" she murmurs self-consciously.

"The beauty of a deserted island is that you can set your own mealtimes."

She chuckles, then sits up fully to grab the picnic basket. She throws open the wicker covering and pulls out the container of fresh papaya and passion fruit. "What about _your_ mealtimes?" she asks.

"I'm fine," I reply, more interested in the soft-boiled egg she unwraps and then takes a bite out of while still chewing on a piece of fruit.

She shrugs at my response and refocuses on the food. While she eats, I tell her about the Dartmouth courses we're enrolled in; since Alice wasn't able to use her visions, she added a few courses to our schedules "just in case"—including enrolling Bella in two of my night courses. Bella is keen to have as many physical classes with me as possible, so I recite the course descriptions to help her choose.

Though the food we brought with us is more than she and Charlie combined would have for dinner at home, she eats her way through almost all of it.

"This is getting out of hand," she complains. "I only just ate."

"Swimming with the dolphins should burn off a few calories," I tease.

"When I'm swimming with the dolphins," she shoots back, "it won't be for burning calories."

"Touché. I suppose you _have_ been doing a lot of exercise. All that _panting_ —"

She throws herself at me with a cry of mock outrage, so I sweep her into my arms and ravish her anew.

Every time we make love reinforces my confidence that I won't hurt her—but I never let myself feel complacent. While Bella and I share our sexual awakening, daring to explore more adventurous positions and situations (for which our isolated island is perfect), I learn not to fear my strength but rather to enjoy the control I've gained over my exceptional body.


	15. Chapter 15

**Fifteen:** **Reaper**

My reluctance to leave Bella pushes me to postpone going hunting for longer than is perhaps wise, but it is easy to ignore my own body's needs. Although my eyes darken as normal, my thirst doesn't gnaw at me in the usual way: my desire for blood has been utterly subsumed by my passion for Bella. Eventually, though, when it has been 19 days since I glutted myself on my bachelor party, I decide it's time to swim to the mainland. I wait until Bella is deeply asleep—which is perhaps closer to daylight than it should be, but the gathering storm means there will be little sun, even after dawn—then put on my swimming trunks (lest I come across any humans along the way).

In case Bella wakes while I'm gone, I leave her a note:

 _I'm hoping you won't wake and notice my absence, but, if you should, I'll be back very soon.  
I've just gone to the mainland to hunt. Go back to sleep and I'll be here when you wake again._

 _I love you._

I've hunted in Brazil in the past, and Alice gave me some advice on where to target my hunt before I left, so I make the trip as short as possible. My need to be with Bella is as strong as the last time I let her out of my sight—except this time I can't hear her heartbeat. The swim and being in constant motion help alleviate a little of my discontentment at being apart, but the need to hunt is the only thing that keeps me moving forwards. Once I reach land, I take down the second and third deer I come across—both gray brockets—because the first happens to be a Sao Paulo Bororo, a very rare species.

The deer's blood tastes much the same as my usual variety, but the hunt itself feels totally different. Despite my prolonged fast, the bloodlust is almost negligible. So negligible that it might even be possible for Bella to be present while I hunt. The realisation of just how far I've come since the fateful day she walked into my life has me grinning all the way home. The idea of going into medical practice myself suddenly sounds a lot less ridiculous (although the barrier of my apparent age will still be there).

Bella is asleep on the couch when I return, her hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. I feel bad that she woke up while I was gone, but worse for not thinking of doing something to help her cool down without my body to siphon off the excess heat. I wasn't thorough after all.

I try to settle down beside her without disturbing her, but she wakes instantly, gasping.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, wiping my cold hand across her clammy forehead. "So much for thoroughness. I didn't think about how hot—" I pause when it becomes clear that her focus is elsewhere; there's something else wrong.

"Excuse me!" she gasps, pushing my arms aside to get up off the couch.

I help her to stand and then she races to the bathroom with her hand clamped over her mouth. I follow and hold her hair out of her face while she crouches over the toilet and is violently sick.

Watching her vomit is the scariest thing I've ever seen. Perhaps my own 'death' at the hands of a virus makes it seem more frightening, because even James's carnage had not been as horrifying. How can I fight a microscopic creature attacking her cells?

When the retching finally stops, I stroke my hand across her forehead again. "Bella?"

"Damn rancid chicken," she moans. "It's just food poisoning. You don't need to see this."

"I'm not going anywhere."

She gives me a grateful little smile, then shakily stands up, accepting my steadying hand. I'm desperate to assess her condition, but I wait while she rinses her mouth out in the sink.

"Do you want to lie down?" I ask as soon as she switches off the water.

She nods slowly, so I carry her to the bed and sit her down carefully, keeping my arms around her as she lies back against the pillows.

"Food poisoning?" I repeat, concerned that she isn't up to making the right diagnosis.

"Yeah… I made some chicken last night. It tasted off, so I threw it out"—that explains the vile smell permeating the entire house—"but I ate a few bites first."

I rest my hand on her forehead; she smiles, appreciating my cool touch. Her temperature might be a little higher than normal, but it _is_ hot here.  "How do you feel now?"

She ponders the question for a moment, then says, "Pretty normal. A little hungry, actually."

I push aside my worries and focus on my medical training. Apart from the vomiting, as far as I can determine without any scanning equipment, everything is normal; Bella giggles when I try to examine her stomach, so I refocus her attention on the steadiness (or otherwise) of her hands before she starts wanting sex. To control as many variables as possible (and keep her fluids up), I get her to drink a big glass of water and then convince her to wait an hour before eating.

She quickly falls asleep once my body has helped her cool down, so I don't wake her when the hour is up. Even so, she wakes soon after, her stomach grumbling loudly, and then scoffs the eggs I fry up for her with as much gusto as she always has in this place.

Her colour is normal, though she is perhaps still tired from having a restless sleep without me. As soon as she's finished eating, I guide her to the sofa and switch on CNN—just in case there has been an outbreak of some virus in Brazil. Bella doesn't comment on this uncharacteristic behaviour, seeming content to lounge across my lap.

After a few minutes of the usual stories, she twists around to kiss me, then lurches away before our lips meet, her hand pressed over her mouth. I know she's feeling sick again, but I suppress the urge to rush her to the bathroom—moving so quickly wouldn't help her feel better. She runs to the kitchen sink, and I follow after, holding her hair out of the way and wishing there was something more useful I could do.

"Maybe we should go back to Rio, see a doctor," I suggest as she rinses her mouth, hoping that the 'new' Bella, who appreciates her humanity, will listen to me (because the 'old' Bella would shrug off any concern).

She shakes her head and begins to sidle towards the hallway. "I'll be fine right after I brush my teeth," she says confidently.

I follow her to the bathroom; she rejects my offer of assistance, but I don't argue. I watch her brush, trying to think through all the possible diagnoses without panicking. She rinses her mouth thoroughly, then goes over to her toiletries bag, kneels down on the tiles, and starts rummaging through it.

When she abruptly freezes, I think she's going to be sick again; I speed to her side, ready to help her up, but she doesn't move, though her heart is frighteningly erratic. I kneel down beside her. "What's wrong?"

She looks up at me with such stunned disbelief that I'm momentarily thrown. What on earth could she have thought of to cause such shock? And then she takes a shuddery breath and whispers, "How many days has it been since the wedding?"

"Nineteen," I reply, though I have no idea how it's relevant. "Bella, what is it?"

"How many days since July twenty-ninth?"

"Thirty-five."

She gasps softly, distracting me from my recollection of that day, then pulls out her box of tampons. "Edward," she chokes out. "My period is five days late."

My body, my mind, my entire being freezes as I grasp the shocking implication: she is _pregnant_!

"I don't think I have food poisoning," she adds. Her voice sounds far away. "All that food. Sleeping so much. Oh. _Oh_. Oh!"

One word and the little I know about it keeps running through my head over and over.

Incubus.

Bella lurches to her feet, one hand already on her stomach and the other tugging aside the blue camisole, and stares at her stomach.

"Impossible," she whispers, but her voice doesn't convey even one-thousandth the level of disbelief I feel. She doesn't sound the least bit afraid, either.

Me, I am petrified. What new monster have I exposed her to now? Will this creature eat her from the inside out?

Why hadn't I anticipated this? I was careless and thoughtless in assuming I'm sterile, and now Bella is paying for another one of my mistakes. When would she stop paying? _What do I have to do to take the burden on myself, where it belongs?_

The fact that I actually said I wished I _could_ make her pregnant—because I didn't want to take away her choice to become a mother—makes it feel as though I have _wished_ this nightmare upon us. Then I realise that I did set us on this course: if I'd let Bella have her way, she would already be an all-but-indestructible vampire. And yet she would have missed out on so much if I'd let James have that victory.

Before I can think beyond this jumbled mess of self-recrimination and sense of utter helplessness, my phone rings. Abstractedly, I remember that I left it in the lounge. It feels like a lifetime ago that I followed Bella in here. No, it feels like I've stepped into a parallel universe, where nothing makes sense.

The phone rings again. It sounds far away, out of reach. Like my sanity. I try to tell my body to move, but nothing feels real. This _cannot_ be real.

After the third ring, Bella turns to look at me, confusion and irritation in her eyes as to why I haven't moved to answer it. For her sake, I struggle against the paralysing fear, the need to reject this terrifying reality. It takes half a second to overcome the disconnection between my brain and my body, but once I start moving, it is easier to keep on moving. _Inertia_ , my chaotic brain thinks, latching onto something it does understand. So I manage to speed to the lounge and answer before the fourth ring has ended.

"Alice," I murmur.

" _Where's Bella?_ " she cries. " _What just happened?_ " I don't need her to tell me that she has lost sight of our future; that's exactly how I feel.

"Is Carlisle there?" I manage to say.

She doesn't bother to answer, just calls out to him. " _Is Bella okay?_ "

"I honestly don't know."

She gasps, shocked by my reply, and then Carlisle is there, asking what's wrong. I'm back in the bathroom now, with Bella, so I put the phone on speaker.

"Bella thinks…" When I meet her gaze, I'm thrown by the excitement in her eyes.

"I'm pregnant!" she gushes, and I can't help picturing this moment had I been human, too. The two of us telling my father that we're having a baby. I would have been the happiest man on Earth.

But that's not our reality. The thing inside her is not a natural life form. I remember the seraphic little boy from the Denali sisters' darkest day, his whole body smeared with blood and gore, eyes vivid red and brimming with endless hunger.

There is silence on the phone for three whole seconds; in the midst of my rising panic, I find myself wondering who else is there. Are Esme and Jasper hearing this, too? Then Carlisle asks, _"When was the first day of your last menstrual cycle?"_

"July twenty-ninth," Bella replies.

 _"How do you feel?"_

"Great, actually," she says confidently. "Everything makes sense now."

" _Everything_?"

"I've been sleeping and eating way more than usual, and today, I started throwing up, and then something _moved _ inside me just now."

I stare at her in stunned disbelief. How can she be so calm with a wholly unknown creature _moving around_ inside her? It can't be more than 19 days old—at that age, a human embryo is nothing more than a tiny lump in the uterus wall.

If it is big enough that she can already feel it moving, it must be growing stronger with each passing _second_. How long before it weakens her? But Bella is not bogged down by any such fear.

"Edward," she murmurs, beaming. "I'm _pregnant_."

I don't know what to say. She holds out her hand and I automatically give her mine; she places it on her stomach. Her abdomen feels the same as always—and then something jerks against my thumb. At first, it's a little nudge against the knuckle, but then it bumps more firmly against the pad of my thumb, and then across the palm of my hand. It feels oddly deliberate, as though the creature is the one doing the examining, not me.

"How is that possible?" I whisper. I don't know if I'm asking about its existence or merely how it has grown so large without my discovering it sooner. "The movement—it feels deliberate."

 _"I'm so sorry,"_ Carlisle speaks up, startling me (I'd forgotten about our family's phone presence), and the movement from within Bella's stomach ceases. _"I truly believed there was no danger beyond the physical risk of injury. I assumed that the transformation crystallised the sperm cells, rendering any DNA nonviable—but if the DNA is intact, theoretically, it could produce a viable embryo. What sort of embryo, I couldn't even begin to speculate, but it's obviously not human…"_

"I'm okay," Bella insists.

 _"At the speed it's developing, it will quickly surpass your body's ability to nourish it. It might also produce toxins that could damage your organs or nervous system, or impact on your hormones and brain chemistry. While it's still small, it should be possible to extract it—"_

" _Extract?_ " Bella exclaims. "No. That's not happening."

" _Your health is at risk._ "

"Then help me manage it," she challenges. "How is this different from any other pregnancy?"

" _The rate of development is alarming. Your body won't be able to cope._ "

"I only have to make it through the pregnancy," she counters. "Edward can change me after that."

" _That is too—_ " he breaks off with an anguished sigh. " _This is a debate for another time. You need to come home immediately—are you able to arrange transport from the island?_ "

"Yes," I say, finding the will to focus now that I've been reminded of this critical task. "I'll call now."

I end the call and immediately dial the number for the airport. Bella doesn't say anything as I argue with one unhelpful Brazilian after another (apparently there are no private jets available and the next commercial flight leaves in 38 minutes, so they initially don't want to book us on it without something more tangible than assurances of large compensation). When it's clear that it isn't going to be a short conversation, I start packing while the airline staff discuss their ability to delay the plane if we arrive after the scheduled departure time.

Packing helps me ward off the panic, but it's necessary, too. It would be highly unusual to leave everything behind, and in this case, Kaure will presume that I've killed Bella. As preoccupied as I am, I still can't doom the poor woman to thinking that… even if it does turn out to be true—but I can't think like that, so I twist the thought in my head. Technically, changing her _is_ killing her.

I have almost packed away all of our clothes before I realise that Bella can't leave the house in the camisole and little shorts she's currently wearing, and I need a shirt. For myself, I grab the next top I touch, but I spare a little of my precious concentration to choose something comfortable for Bella. She changes and then sits cross-legged on the bed, watching me with wide eyes, one hand resting on her stomach.

I still can't understand how calm she is. Me, I am struggling with shock, fear, anger, regret, remorse, dread, grief, frustration, panic, guilt—basically every negative emotion I've ever had.

When everything is packed away, I stand by the bed, not quite able to meet Bella's level gaze as I wrap up the conversation with the airline staff. They agree to board us if we arrive within an hour, so I assure them we'll be there in time, and then make another call to arrange for a hire car to be sent to the docks.

As soon as that's sorted, I shove the phone in my pocket. "Are you ready to go?" I ask Bella.

She nods, but doesn't immediately get up. "Our _baby_ , Edward," she murmurs. "You don't want to kill our baby, do you?"

"I don't want to kill _you_ ," I reply, giving her the only answer I can manage right now.

"I'm not going to die," she promises. Then she bursts into a smile. "I'm going to have our baby."

Before I can wrap my head around her words, let alone formulate a response to them, I realise that the roaring in my ears is the sound of an engine—it's Gustavo's boat.

"The housekeepers are here," I blurt. "I forgot they're due today."

"That's good timing," she replies lightly.

I'm not sure I agree; I doubt I can present the friendly mien they're used to right now. Kaure already fears that I'm a monster, and I just might make Gustavo doubt my humanity, too. But it's too late to evade them, so I'll have to try.

"Shall I take the bags to the boat?" I ask, focusing on the next most important task. "I can come back for you…"

Bella nods. "I'll grab something to eat."

I nod back, then pick up the suitcases and run to the dock, slowing just before Gustavo and Kaure will catch sight of me and then walking the rest of the way at a brisk human pace.

As the boat approaches the dock, the noisy engine momentarily drowns out Bella's heartbeat and I am swamped with the horror of losing her—but then Gustavo switches it off and her heart thuds right when I expect it to, steady and strong. He waves to me, so I pull myself together enough to wave back, and then I tell them that we're leaving now.

Kaure immediately picks up on my tension and fears the worst. She asks after Bella, but when the reply sticks in my throat, she isn't placated by the truth that she's back at the house packing some food to bring with us. She gathers her courage and insists on giving Bella the bowl of Maniçoba she made for her. As worried as she is for her _own_ life (and Gustavo's), she can't let me leave without checking on Bella first. If I weren't so frustrated, I'd be impressed. I tell her we won't have time to eat it, but she says she'd like to show Bella anyway.

She retrieves the dish and then strides up the pathway to the door, praying to her gods to protect her as she passes by me—and praying for Bella's safety. Her thoughts anger me; I find myself wondering what she would say if I told her of the danger Bella is in. I put the bags into the boat and then follow her up the path; I want to run back to Bella—to speed past Kaure without caring how frightened she'd be—but I can't do that to her, or to Carlisle and Esme, so I jog along the path, letting my footfalls sound so that she hears me before I overtake her.

Bella is still in the kitchen, munching on pretzels while she scans the cupboards looking for I know not what. I go to her side and wrap an arm around her, then lean in close.

"Kaure's insisting on showing you the food she brought—she made us dinner. An excuse to make sure I haven't killed you yet." I can't help the sourness in my voice; because of me, Bella _is_ in mortal peril.

Bella puts down the bag of pretzels and finishes her mouthful, then wipes her lips in preparation for our guest. "That's brave of her," she murmurs, her voice full of compassion.

I'm not surprised that she is touched by the woman's courage, but I use the reminder to help me rein in my impatience. The frightened little woman doesn't deserve to have her fears confirmed.

Kaure takes a deep breath before stepping over the threshold, calling up her courage, and then hurries down the hallway. Her heart rate spikes as she reaches the living area and has to walk blindly into the room. She starts when she sees that I am standing between her and Bella—our pose makes it feel like a hostage situation. But then Bella smiles and I manage to find a smile of my own before turning to face her.

Kaure's eyes flicker between the two of us, assessing the colour in Bella's face, the tightness around her eyes. She is relieved to see that Bella is still alive and apparently unharmed, but she knows _something_ is wrong. She wants to ask, to offer Bella her help—to _warn_ her—but she knows she is already risking much, so she unwraps the embroidered tea towel from around the dish and presents the food to us.

Two seconds later, Bella gags and then whirls for the sink. Ignoring Kaure's shock, I focus on my wife. While I'm holding her hair back and stroking her forehead, I realise that it's the food making her ill. I need to get rid of it.

I grab the dish out of Kaure's startled hands, shove it in the refrigerator, and return my hands to Bella's clammy face in less than a second.

Understandably, Kaure is frozen with fear; yet she is not so afraid that she doesn't see my obvious concern for Bella's wellbeing. I don't know what to do now that I have confirmed my unnaturalness. There's no time to reassure her, and I can't focus on anything other than Bella.

When the vomiting has stopped, Bella switches on the water and rinses her mouth. The colour is already returning to her cheeks, but she still feels shaky. As soon as she turns off the tap, I wrap my arms around her and she relaxes against me, resting her head on my shoulder.

Kaure watches as Bella's hands seem to gravitate unconsciously to her stomach—as expectant mothers' do. She gasps softly, immediately understanding and freshly shocked at the thought of Bella being pregnant by _me_.

Her thoughts seem impossible—her people actually have legends of _demon children_. And she thinks Bella is doomed. I turn my head towards her, and then she screams at me, cursing me for damning this beautiful, innocent girl. Bella starts and then stares at Kaure in shock as the woman raises her tiny fist in the air and shakes it at me. Taking a step closer, anger momentarily trumping fear, Kaure says she wishes she was strong enough to smite me for my wickedness.

The accusations are just, but I don't have time for this. I need her to calm down so that her thoughts are less tangled and I can learn more of her legends. So I hold out a hand towards her in supplication and, using her native tongue, beg her to tell me what she knows.

She is understandably shocked by my fluency in her language; her tirade cuts off at once. Eyes narrowed, she asks if I am the demon of their legends—the cold, immortal being that lives on blood.

Though I am breaking our one rule of secrecy, I nod. Bella is more important to me than anything. Kaure takes a step back and crosses herself, praying to her gods.

To get her thoughts back on track, I insist that Bella is all I care about. She snaps at me again—that my civilised ways don't make me any more human, and if I think that, then I have deceived myself as much as I have deceived Bella.

I try again, explaining that I live on the blood of animals, not humans, and that Bella knew what I am before she married me. Then I plead with her to tell me what her legends say about the women. I swear to her that I will do anything to save my wife—but I stop short of pledging to kill the creature, out of respect for Bella's wishes.

Kaure's expression changes as I speak, the doubt as plain on her face as it is in her thoughts, as she analyses my sincerity. She is justifiably protective of her people's legends—she believes I could easily kill her and all of her village (especially since she knows I'm not alone) if I decide the legends are too dangerous to be allowed to persist. Eventually, though, she is convinced by my pleas and her belief in Bella's gentle nature.

She makes a motion with her hands, miming a shape like a balloon jutting out from her stomach. Bella starts; there is no misunderstanding that gesture. The little woman dares to come closer, asking whether her moods have changed. Her stories tell of unnaturally swift pregnancies and women who flee into the jungle, turning savage as the demon child takes over. I can barely get the words out to ask if any survived, but she understands my garbled question.

She hesitates, full of pity for our plight, before slowly shaking her head. With one last effort, I ask what she knows of the resultant child. Bella looks up at me in shock, no doubt at the hoarseness of my voice, but I can't meet her eyes. Kaure walks towards us; her thoughts are painful to hear. There is only one thing she knows about the children because they leave so much destruction in their wake. She doesn't stop until she is close enough to lay her small hand on top of Bella's, over her stomach.

" _Morte_ ," she sighs quietly, before raising that hand and touching her fingertips to Bella's forehead. She murmurs a prayer for her innocent soul, and then turns, her shoulders bent under the weight of the terrible secret she now carries, and leaves the room.

I listen as she walks back to the dock, her thoughts numb with horror and sadness. I feel exactly the same way; her legends are every bit as horrifying as my worst imaginings.

When Bella shifts in my arms, I automatically meet her gaze. "She knew I was pregnant," she murmurs amazedly. I steel myself to answer her next question, but instead of asking for details, she gives me a wide grin. "I'm not the first girl to get knocked up by a vampire," she jokes.

"Kaure's people have legends," I allow, not wanting to reaffirm her bolstered confidence, "but who can say how much is based on truth."

Bella just shrugs and then she pulls out of my arms and starts towards the hallway.

"Where are you going?" I murmur.

"To brush my teeth again."

"I packed your toothbrush," I point out. "It's in the boat."

"Oh, right," she says, stopping. "I can brush my teeth on the boat, can't I?"

I nod, relieved to be getting back on track. I lift her into my arms—detouring past the bench so she can grab the snacks she wants to bring—and then walk out the door without bothering to close it. I walk slowly for Bella's sake—Gustavo is still at the dock and Kaure is almost there, so I could run, but I don't want to jostle her. I remind myself to be patient, but the delay is still agonising. However much I try to tell myself we have time, Bella's symptoms reinforce Kaure's warnings about the speed at which the women in her legends deteriorated. We have at least 15 hours of travelling ahead of us; how ill will Bella be by the time we get home?

When Kaure reaches the dock, Gustavo is shocked by her visible distress. He asks her what happened, but she simply shakes her head, so he sets down his satchel of cleaning equipment and wraps an arm around her.

I walk out onto the dock half a minute later. Gustavo and Kaure look up quickly. Bella gives them both a smile and a wave, and Kaure shudders. Now that she knows I am a blood-drinking demon, the thought of a human feeling at all comfortable in my arms is tough to comprehend.

"Obrigada," Bella says to them both; then, "Obrigada, Kaure."

Kaure understands that she is thanking her for the knowledge she shared with us. She nods her head, still sad but reassured that she made the right choice to share her tribe's secrets—secrets which she now knows are vitally important—and then she promises to say a prayer for us every night.

"Muito obrigado," I murmur, while Gustavo glances between me and his wife, full of dread at the implications of Kaure's promise.

They watch in silence as I carry Bella onto the boat and then set her down. She goes straight to her suitcase and retrieves her toothbrush and paste, while I prepare for departure.

Kaure marvels at Bella's composure as she brushes and then grabs a bottle of water to rinse her mouth, looking for all the world as if nothing is wrong. Her serenity seems even more pointed in contrast with my discernible agitation. For the first time, Gustavo sees the superhumanness about me; it doesn't help that I keep losing focus and moving just that little bit too quickly. He hasn't noticed consciously, but it is registering subconsciously and, in combination with his knowledge of Kaure's beliefs, it won't be long until it adds up to the realisation of what I am (even if Kaure holds to her decision to keep my family's awful secret to herself).

The Ticuna legends stream through my mind over and over as I start the engine and steer the boat away from the dock. Bella sits in my lap again, as she had on the way here, but everything is different now. The fear I'd felt then pales into insignificance compared to the fear that fills me now as I contemplate our future.

I can't deny that Carlisle's immediate response—to extract the creature—has considerable appeal, but at the same time, I understand Bella's stance. As much as it terrifies me, I understand that she can't live with the choice to murder our child, even if the reality of its nature doesn't match the perfect baby she envisions. Part of me even shares her excitement. _We're having a baby!_ But the other part immediately retorts, _Yes, a bloodthirsty, demon baby_.

As we race across the water at twice the cruising speed I'd employed on the way to the island, I fight the cloying sense of hopelessness.


	16. Chapter 16

**Sixteen: Advocate**

The choppy sea makes our hurried voyage back to shore rougher than I'd like, but at least the overcast skies mean I don't have to hide. We reach the port of Rio 25 minutes before the hour is up and our plane departs without us. The switch from boat to car proceeds with minimal delay, and then I drive us as quickly as possible to the airport, violating traffic regulations at every intersection (but that's normal for Rio, so our car doesn't stand out).

We're fortunate that it's a Saturday, so the traffic doesn't hold us up, but we're still surrounded by thousands of people. Only my focus on our destination helps me filter out their chaotic thoughts.

While driving, I organise a charter flight from Houston to Port Angeles. Bella doesn't object, but she is clearly doubtful of my current ability to multitask: she has the door gripped tightly in one hand and my leg in the other. To reassure her, I keep my eyes on the road around us and my voice as calm as possible. It helps that this booking goes smoothly; I'm even able to obtain the fastest jet available, so we'll be in Port Angeles in approximately 14 hours.

Wanting to avoid another fraught conversation with Carlisle, I call Alice. Our sister is justifiably distressed. She still can't see our futures, and she only saw that I was going to call, not what I was going to say, so I tell her the flight details and then Bella gives her an encouraging spiel about the baby's "otherness" explaining her lack of sight. I don't know how reassured she is by it—I don't even know how reassured _I_ am—but she manages to thank her before ending the call.

"What exactly did Kaure say?" Bella murmurs after a moment, no doubt in response to my poorly concealed distress. "What do the legends say?"

"They say a lot," I warn, even as I start crafting the awful details into some kind of coherent narrative.

"Tell me," she murmurs. "Please."

I nod; no matter how much I wish I could shield her from the grisly details, she needs to hear them. I can't count the number of times they've already played through my head, but I feel unexpectedly detached when I start to speak; the words flow out of me like it's just another fairy tale (I should've started with _once upon a time_ ). "It was always the prettiest girl in the village. Sometimes, she would tell a sister or a close friend about the handsome stranger who slipped into her bedroom at night; other times, no one would know anything was wrong until she started showing signs of unnaturally accelerated pregnancy. Either way, she would quickly lose her mind and then disappear into the forest. Not long after, the village or one nearby would be attacked and all but destroyed by an unknown assailant, or many people would suddenly go missing."

I can't bring myself to describe the stories of the crazed mother defending her unborn baby to the death, fighting on long after a normal woman would be incapacitated because she felt no pain—because they sound like the fabrications of time—so I skip to the more realistic details about the pregnancy, though they aren't any less horrific. "The womb becomes like rock, and it crushes the mother's body as it expands. Nothing can penetrate or damage it once it grows beyond a certain size. No one has ever witnessed the birth, but the Ticuna say that the creature uses its teeth to cut its way out of its mother's corpse—and they know it has all its teeth because, through all the carnage, every once in a while, they'd find a perfect but miniature reproduction of a human bite mark."

Although Bella is disconcerted, she quickly shakes off the horror and her expression instead fills with sympathy for my distress. She strokes my arm gently. "That's not our future. We can help the baby manage its thirst," she says assuredly.

I don't know what to say on that matter, so I give her my overall opinion on the legends instead. "If half-human, half-vampire children exist, and they cause that much devastation, we would have heard about them. So the legends must have built up over time—what if the real truth is that the women's bodies can't support the pregnancy? What if they _both_ die?"

"I don't think so," Bella replies. "But if they do, it's because they're alone. _I'm_ not alone. You can help me get through, and then you can change me. You can look after our baby while I'm changing."

Against the backdrop of the legends of the crazed mother defending her unborn baby to the death, her reasoning is reassuringly sensible, if not realistic. I want to ask how I can possibly help her with this physical challenge, but the words catch in my throat.

Bella doesn't leave me to suffer alone. "I _am_ strong enough," she insists, stroking my face with her warm, steady hand, rubbing her thumb across my tensed temple. "I love you, Edward," she says, "and I love this baby. I'm not going to abandon either of you."

I've only just begun to believe that _I_ am worthy of her love; I can't believe it of the creature. "We don't know anything about it."

"We know everything that matters. You're its daddy and I'm its mummy, and it's going to have the most loving family in the whole world."

I can't help but be moved by the romantic notion. The future still terrifies me, but her unwavering certainty gives me strength. I forcibly relax my jaw and she smiles at her success—but my heart is still breaking.

At Rio airport, the plane is ready and waiting, so I give the three staff who will be escorting us onto the tarmac the equivalent of seventeen hundred US dollars in Brazilian Real. Their churlish demeanours instantly change to smiles all round (they'd expected a miserable gratuity when they saw how young I look).

Eleven minutes behind schedule, while we are still making our way to our seats, the plane's engines start up. There is no one else in first class (the real reason they'd argued over holding the plane for us), so we sit in the two-seater sofa by the bar. Before the attendant asks, I tell her that we don't want a drink and we'll call her when we need anything to save her from having to keep checking on us. She thinks she knows what I mean by that—that we're intending to have sex during the flight—so I don't disabuse her of the convenient notion.

After pointing out the location of our pyjamas, slippers, amenities kits, headphones, and menus, she gives us our own personal, abbreviated version of the safety briefing, making a point of reminding us to keep our seatbelts on until the captain switches off the sign. It's hard to look at her while she's picturing me shirtless, but at least she makes herself scarce as promised, and she even turns the bright lighting down and switches off the speakers in our area so that the captain's announcements and the general safety briefing won't disturb us.

On the flight over, Bella had been exhausted from a full day of excitement; this time, she is considerably more awake. She relaxes against me with a sigh as the plane taxis onto the runway. "I'm glad we're the only ones in here," she says. "It feels weird being around people again." Then she gives me a sympathetic smile. "It must be hard for you."

"Yes," I agree, figuring she's referring to the barrage of thoughts streaming through my head, though that's not the real reason I'm struggling to keep it together.

She strokes my cheek tenderly, then glances around the large cabin. Her gaze lingers on the well-stocked, artistic bar display beside us. "If I weren't pregnant," she remarks, her voice jarringly teasing, "I might actually be tempted."

Her incongruous merriment cuts through my wavering control; I can't understand it. "I'm so sorry," I blurt. "This is all my fault. You didn't choose—"

She places a hand across my mouth, silencing me, and then cups my cheek. "It's not anyone's _fault_ ," she insists. "It's a miracle. Edward, I want this baby."

"You could _die_."

"Without supernatural intervention, yes, I probably would," she says matter-of-factly. "But I have you to change me. I know I can hold on until the baby's ready to be born, and it doesn't matter what happens after that because you can save me."

In my heart, I hear her and I desperately _want_ to believe, but the doubts in my head won't let me. Maybe if I could believe that the creature is as natural a product of our union as a human baby would be… but I just can't see it. "You and I _can't_ interbreed. We're different species."

"So are donkeys and horses."

The comparison brings me up short. She's right: donkeys and horses _can_ interbreed, despite having different numbers of chromosomes. Their offspring are typically sterile, but otherwise perfectly healthy. Why couldn't our offspring achieve a similar balance between its vampiric and human aspects? Except no one—not even Alice—can predict how its supernatural enhancements will manifest.

"You're not as different from me as you thought you were," Bella goes on, strengthening her already compelling argument, "which means the baby won't be so different either."

I only have one doubt left. "If it _is_ a baby," I mumble.

"What else would it be?"

"I don't know—a demon." It sounds silly when I say it out loud, even before Bella screws up her nose. But she doesn't disparage my superstitiousness.

"Edward," she says gently. "It's not a demon. I know I'm not an expert on pregnancy, but—" she pauses as a smile blossoms on her lips, spreading joy across her entire face. "If you could feel what _I_ feel, you'd understand. Our baby is like _you_ —and you aren't a monster."

My first thought is that, if I _were_ never one, I could easily have become one—without Carlisle's thoughts to ground me, I could've been one of the most vicious vampires to ever walk the Earth—but I know any such remark would only start a pointless debate (because neither one of us would be able to convince the other). So I focus on the most important question. "What makes you so sure you can survive?"

"Because I have to," she says simply, and the absolute certainty—the iron will—in her eyes starts to make headway against my fears. I know that feeling; when we first met, I fought my basest instincts with little more than that simple truth to drive me. "Edward, this baby is a blessing. I know it's not going to be _easy_ , but we've made it through every other complication, and we'll make it through this, too."

"I can't lose you."

"You won't. Together, we can do anything."

She takes my hand and presses it to her stomach. I don't know if I'm imagining it or not, but my palm tingles as though her body has an electric charge—and then I realise that there's a definite bulge in her stomach that wasn't there an hour ago.

"How are you feeling now?" I ask, feeling neglectful for hogging the focus when she is the one in danger, the one who needs taking care of. "Are you hungry?"

She shrugs lightly, but the action seems _too_ casual; even the whole bag of pretzels she's eaten so far this morning won't have been enough to satisfy her. "Maybe. Do you think they'll have eggs?" she asks, reaching for the stack of brochures on the bar table. "What did the girl say about the call button?"

"She won't come back until we press the call button," I reply, reaching over and pulling out the onboard menu for her.

"Oh?"

"She thinks we're having sex."

Bella laughs, then drops the menu and eyes _me_ hungrily. "Why _aren't_ we?"

"The plane hasn't reached its cruising altitude yet," I point out, though that excuse will only hold for another 12 minutes.

She glances through the window behind us as though she hadn't even noticed we're airborne, and then fixes me with an exultant grin. "I don't need a seatbelt when I have _you_ ," she asserts, already unclipping the belt.

"I'm not sure we should—"

" _Shush_ ," she interrupts, sliding herself sideways onto my lap. "I'm _pregnant_ , not an invalid."

I can't explain it, but the moment she presses our lips together, I feel like my brain resets. For a moment, there is nothing—beyond the multitude of plane noises, the wind, and the overlapping chatter of a few hundred minds—and then my whole body feels alive with power. Maybe I've fallen under the creature's spell, too, but hope floods through me as we breathe each other's breath. It feels as though I really can share my strength with her.

Letting her lead, I keep one hand on her stomach and shift the other to her back as she starts undoing my shirt buttons. I'm still not sure this is a good idea—she might move in a way that brings on the nausea again—but maybe my reluctance is just as much a product of the longing I feel for our private island.

And then Bella abruptly stops undressing me. She chuckles against my lips. "Maybe I'm not quite ready to join the _mile high club_."

"That's okay," I murmur, stroking her flushed cheek as I press another kiss to her lips. "I don't think I am either." (But that's not exactly the truth—if I weren't so focused on her health, there'd be no denying my growing enthusiasm.)

She smiles and kisses me again. "This is enough for now."

I nod, although the point raises an interesting conundrum: I would happily kiss her for the rest of eternity, yet not being able to make love to her is maddening. (Even now, when my concerns for her wellbeing are uppermost in my mind, I can't imagine ever looking at her and not wanting to make love to her then and there; it makes me realise that, his first decade aside, Emmett controls himself better than I've ever given him credit for.)

It is so quiet in here (to human ears) that the _ding_ of the 'fasten seatbelt' sign switching off makes Bella jump. She giggles softly—and then shivers. I mutter a curse under my breath, too softly for Bella to hear, and then gently slip her onto the seat beside me. She sighs, but she must be feeling the cold because she doesn't protest.

"I'll get you a blanket," I murmur, while she retrieves the menu.

After deciding on scrambled eggs and the fruit platter, Bella presses the call button. The attendant appears after a minute, all smiles for her _cute couple_. Her attempts to figure out if I'm anyone famous—or the son of anyone famous—cut off as Bella casually informs her that she's pregnant. She glances between the two of us with growing envy, but manages to keep her smile in place and answer Bella's questions professionally and thoughtfully.

When she asks for my menu choices, Bella speaks up for me. "He never eats on planes," she says, as if we fly all the time, and then she strokes her fingers through my hair. "Now that I'm pregnant, he's not drinking either. He's such a sweetheart."

The attendant smiles at her, wishing she could find herself a "sweetheart" like me instead of the usual jerk she falls for, before turning back to me. "Can I get you any tea or coffee, then, sir?"

"Hot water, please," I say, figuring that it might help warm my body in this comparatively thinner atmosphere.

"I'll bring some out right away, along with your fruit, ma'am," she adds, confirming that she will follow Bella's request for immediate delivery of each plate of food as soon as it's ready.

Bella nods her thanks, but there is a definite crease in her brow; " _Ma'am_ sounds so old," she mutters as the attendant closes the door to our section.

"She doesn't think you look old," I murmur. "She thinks you and I make a cute couple."

"Really?" she says, brightening. Then she strokes her hand down my shirt-clad chest. "She doesn't wish _she_ had you instead?"

"No more than usual."

"Sounds like she deserves a big tip," she teases. "How much money do we have left?"

"Enough to tip twenty of her—she'll take American dollars."

Bella chuckles, and then stands up. "Let's sit at a table."

I follow her to the nearest of the two two-seater dining tables, but I insist on wrapping her waist-to-knee in a blanket before she sits, then add a second blanket around her body, tucking it in so that it won't be a nuisance.

The attendant returns as I'm sitting down, wheeling a small trolley carrying a large platter of tropical fruits and berries, a jug of hot water, two glasses, and one set of cutlery. Bella takes the cutlery out of the girl's hand, eager to start, and the attendant grins as she imagines how she might have worked up such an appetite. She sets the jug and glasses on my side of the table, then promises to return with the scrambled eggs in a couple of minutes.

Bella scoffs the first few bites, but the fruit is apparently so delicious that she slows down to savour it, much to my relief. To amuse her, I drink the quarter gallon of hot water in one long gulp, straight from the jug. I wait a moment to let the heat dissipate a little and then press my warmed lips to the back of her hand. She giggles and encourages me to lean across the table to kiss her lips. My lips cool quickly, but she doesn't stop—until the attendant returns.

The scrambled eggs are as well received as the fruit, so I dare to hope that her body will get the nourishment it needs this time. When she starts yawning after the dishes have been cleared away, I turn two of the centre seats into a surprisingly comfortable double bed. Bella grumbles faintly when I insist on keeping some blankets between us, but she can't deny that she needs them and we soon find a satisfactory compromise; I stop breathing so that she can lie on her side with her back against my chest. She falls asleep in less than ten minutes.

While she sleeps, the raucous thoughts of our fellow passengers ravage my concentration, but it is easier to cope now that I've accepted the path we're on. I'm still not _happy_ that Bella is pregnant, but I'm no longer paralysed by my fear.

Bella doesn't wake until we're coming in to land. She sits up slowly, but she freezes before she's fully upright when her hand lands on her stomach and we both realise just how much larger it is. She gasps softly, eyes wide with shock, but it only takes a moment for her to announce that it's a good thing the baby is growing so quickly—it means her body won't need to carry it for long.

I'm not sure that I agree, but I do my best to hide my nerves; there's nothing I can do about the baby's growth rate, but I can help Bella keep her spirits up. I don't know how successful I am, though, because she seems particularly focused on reassuring _me_ : she holds my hand and smiles at me throughout the landing and as we disembark, clear customs, and board the charter plane. Part of me wants to laugh; even now, when she is in mortal peril all over again, she is the one comforting me. Esme and Renée are right—Bella is more than capable of managing my neuroses.

Despite having just slept for almost nine hours, she lies down in one of the plane's lie-flat seats and immediately falls asleep again. I drape a couple of blankets over her, trying not to worry that she is still so tired. She only sleeps for an hour, though, and she is quick to ask for something to eat upon waking. She tells this attendant that she's pregnant, too, so he assures us that their foods are all freshly made and additive free. At first, she chooses the pumpkin and ginger soup, but the smell of it puts her off, so he makes her a banana berry smoothie instead.

To pass the remaining two hours' flight time, she requests a recital; but when I propose _Twelfth Night_ , she suggests _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ instead. I comply at once, without, I hope, exposing my dislike of a couple of the characters in particular (implacable Demetrius reminds me unduly of Jacob). Bella enjoys the playful banter, but not the females' fundamental powerlessness, so she encourages me to present an abbreviated version, and then we discuss how the play could be amended to rectify the one-dimensional depiction of women and the various contemporary versions that have played around with the plot and the themes.

Our whole family is waiting for us in the terminal at Port Angeles. Their predominantly anxious thoughts feel particularly odd against my freshly hopeful outlook, but Carlisle's anxious, guilt-ridden thoughts are the most shocking. I was expecting Alice to be beside herself with worry (and Jasper to share that worry), but not Carlisle. His torment is driven by the feeling that he is responsible for this "calamity"—if it weren't for his "unforgivably" lax medical analysis, we would have discovered the risk and been able to avoid it. Esme is almost as worried about him as she is about Bella and me, while Rosalie is beside herself with excitement and Emmett is as untroubled as ever.

Alice still can't see us around the unknown life force inside Bella. As the plane completes its descent, I listen to her memory of the moment Bella's future disappeared. Unlike the first five days, during which she had tracked our every move (she _did_ include the lingerie to help Bella seduce me), she was only keeping loose tabs on us, so she hadn't seen Bella vomit (probably because it hadn't influenced any of our decisions). Then, out of nowhere, while she and Jasper were painting the guest bedroom of our little cottage, she saw a vision of Bella standing in front of the mirror with an expression of stunned disbelief, and then everything went black, as if the wolf pack had descended on the island.

Thanks to the quiet airport, we're able to disembark immediately. It's raining, so the attendant offers to accompany us to the terminal, but I simply request the use of his umbrella, promising to trade it for our luggage when we're inside. We are surrounded by our family as soon as we enter the building. Everyone is relieved that Bella seems normal, but that's nothing to their shock at my composure. Esme is thrilled, but Carlisle doesn't understand it—and Alice is disgusted. My lack of comment during Bella and Carlisle's phone conversation hadn't warned her that I wouldn't share her and Carlisle's distrust of the unknown creature. It doesn't help that her head starts to ache within 15 seconds of being around Bella. The few visions she's had of the future are already blurring, but unlike usual, there are no new visions taking their place. Even looking ahead into her own immediate future is a painful struggle.

Emmett takes our bags from the overawed attendant (without tipping him, because it doesn't take a mind-reader to know that his every thought is fixed on Rosalie), and then Esme leads us all outside. She has an umbrella for Bella, so I walk with them, enjoying Esme's irrepressible joy as much as Bella seems to be.

While Emmett drives the Volvo, Bella and I climb into the Mercedes with Carlisle and Esme. Esme drives, leaving Bella and me to tell Carlisle he shouldn't blame himself, but his guilt and his concerns for Bella's wellbeing are too acute to let him hear us. In his mind, we were relying on his medical opinion, so it is his careless assumption that has "doomed" Bella. His self-reproving feelings are all too familiar to me, but that insight doesn't help me figure out how to ease his burden now. Our composure does help, but he is already picturing the looming stages of the pregnancy that will push Bella's body beyond its limits. As far as he can see, there is only one option—to extract the creature now—because if we let it grow, it will either kill her or force us to begin her transition with it still inside her, and he has no idea what the consequences of such a desperate act would be.

Although his medical analysis concerns me deeply, it doesn't shake the sense of certitude that has taken up residence inside me. If there's one thing I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, it's that Bella won't give up. Rosalie's thoughts are surprisingly helpful in that regard: she has absolute faith in Bella's heart being strong enough to make it through, even if the baby has to assimilate the rest of her internal organs in order to grow. The extremeness of that idea scares me, but it's not as if I haven't been trying to prepare myself for the torment of Bella's transformation.

When we arrive home, Carlisle suggests that we convene in the dining room, which is now a maternity ward with more high-tech equipment than some hospitals, but Bella requests some human time first. He immediately goes to argue, so Esme puts a hand on his shoulder and he manages to contain himself. But his thoughts are no less despairing. Watching his shoulders slump in defeat is one of the most shocking things I've ever seen. Bella is affected by it, too—I can feel it in the way her hand trembles in mine—but she sticks to her purpose.

Rosalie races upstairs ahead of us, telling Bella about the bed they've made up for her in my room and offering her help in the shower. It is odd seeing and hearing her so excited—I've _never_ seen her like this—but I can assist my own wife in there, so I politely usher her out of the bathroom while Bella switches on the water.

"I miss that rainhead shower already," she jokes as she sheds her clothes.

Seeing her naked, I'm shocked at just how distended her formerly flat stomach is. She looks about four months pregnant! We share a look of surprise and then she grins and rubs her enlarged tummy. I am sorely tempted to do the same, but I know if I touch her, I'll kiss her, and if I kiss her, I'll want more—even with our family downstairs.

Bella's eyes track down my clothed body and then back up to my face. Her coy expression almost undoes me, but she gets into the shower before my concerns for Carlisle, my respect for the rest of my family, and my sense of decorum are swept away by my passion for my wife. (Even Jasper's awareness of my untrammelled urges has little quelling effect.)

With the shower glass in between us, I find it a little easier to curb my libido. Except Bella certainly puts on a show. Watching her carefully lather up her body reminds me of the last time she showered— _we_ showered—and the fun we'd had. She is so beautiful, and right now, her pregnant belly looks completely natural and wonderful. I can almost pretend that I'm human and we're having a normal, human baby. But I don't need to forget who I am to believe that Bella will willingly endure whatever torment she must in order to give our baby life, and then endure the agony of the transformation, too. (In a weird sort of way, I'm _glad_ that she has already experienced the inconceivable agony, because she knows exactly what lies in store for her.)

Bella showers carefully but quickly, no doubt as conscious of our family's impatience as I am. As soon as the shower switches off, Rosalie knocks on the door.

"I've got some clothes for you," she says. "May I come in?"

Bella blushes and pulls one of the warmed towels around herself, but she nods, so I tell my eager sister that she may enter.

Rosalie opens the door to reveal that she has two dozen garments draped across her left arm. They are a mix of dresses, skirts, track pants, t-shirts, sweaters, thermals, and more, in various sizes that she and Emmett bought for Bella while we were on our way home. She holds up her favourite options—a pretty orange wrap dress, a plum-coloured jumpsuit, and a set of light-brown, long pyjamas—but she can't wait for Bella to choose before asking to touch her belly.

Bella flushes scarlet, but she nods. Rosalie immediately rushes her, flipping aside the towel to touch her hand to Bella's bare stomach. Bella gasps at her cold touch, but then she giggles, probably because Rosalie's enthusiasm is too amazing to care about anything else.

The womb has hardened considerably, so Rosalie can barely feel any movement emanating from Bella's stomach, even though Bella insists that her "little nudger" is highly active. Rosalie doesn't mind, though; she is thrilled that her little niece or nephew is responding to her touch. Despite her excitement, she removes her hand after half a minute—before I have to remind her—so that Bella can get dressed. I am moved by her sensitivity to Bella's needs.

Bella chooses the wrap dress, but adds a pair of leggings and a woollen shawl, so Rosalie and I, and Carlisle and Esme when we return downstairs, are worried that she's feeling the cold of Forks, despite the toasty warm house. Esme offers to make her something to eat, but she shakes her head, so Carlisle ushers us straight into the dining room.

Bella freezes when she enters, shocked by the veritable hospital in here, but then she gives Carlisle a little smile and sits down on the side of the bed without a word. The rest of us arrange ourselves in a loose circle around her; Alice's headache is so bad that she needs Jasper to guide her. Conscious of his thirst, he stays the furthest from Bella, hovering behind Alice as he uses his gift to try to ease her headache.

"Tell us exactly what happened," Carlisle murmurs, hoping to gain some insight into this impossible occurrence.

When he requests that we start from the beginning, Bella presses her lips together, a blush already blossoming on her cheeks, so I speak for both of us, starting from the _very_ beginning. "We arrived on the island on schedule. Then we went for a swim—" I freeze. Had the warm water awoken my sperm?

Carlisle wonders the same thing; Emmett is doing his best not to picture Bella and me having sex, forgoing his usual teasing out of consideration for this anxious time (the size of Bella's stomach has brought home the seriousness of the pregnancy); Rosalie and Jasper don't care what has caused this pause; Alice is struggling to stay in the moment; and Esme is too concerned for Bella's wellbeing to pre-empt our story.

 _That's a question for another day_ , Carlisle decides. _Go on_.

"We went back to the bedroom and…"

" _Made the beast with two backs_ ," Emmett supplies lewdly, unable to stay silent after such a perfect set-up.

I can't help picturing that exquisite moment and Bella's heart thuds loudly, proving she's doing the same.

 _How many times did you both orgasm?_ , Carlisle asks, trying to help us avoid giving everyone the full story.

"Twice," I breathe.

 _Synchronously?_

I nod, listening to his medical opinion; apparently, there is speculation that the female orgasm helps sperm travel deeper into the woman's body more quickly.

 _And several times a day from then on?_

"Not for a few days," I admit.

Emmett snorts with amusement, figuring that I chickened out after the first time, before reining in his natural comedian once more.

Meanwhile, Carlisle wonders whether or not we can assume that Bella fell pregnant that first night (the image of Bella _falling_ pregnant is an unpleasant reminder of my initial failure). "When did you start noticing changes?" he asks.

"Straight away, I think," Bella replies. "It felt like I was always hungry, and I had some weird food cravings, but we figured it was just the island—the heat and all the physical activity."

Emmett snorts again, freshly amused because he "knows" that she isn't referring to _sex_. (Even so, he hopes that we _did_ give each other a proper introduction to the world's "greatest" pastime.)

Ignoring him, I go on with our story. "I went hunting before dawn yesterday morning. Bella woke while I was away and cooked some chicken. She had a few bites and thought it tasted off, so she blamed that when she first vomited." At this point, I realise that Bella ought to take over; she nods when I look at her.

"I slept for a bit and then had some eggs, but I threw up again when I twisted around and the movement made me felt sick. That's when I found the tampons Alice packed for me and realised my period was late. Then something moved inside me, right before Alice rang. After that, Edward organised the trip home—and then the housekeepers arrived when we were about to leave."

Everyone stares at me, shocked at this news, and I feel equally startled that they don't know we ran into Gustavo and Kaure. Then I realise that they don't know I have selfishly endangered our entire family if Kaure ever tells anyone (or everyone, Kaure included, if the Volturi were to learn of my _indiscretion_ ). "Kaure wouldn't leave without seeing Bella," I murmur, building up to the admission. "She brought some food with her, and the smell of it made Bella sick again. I moved too quickly getting rid of it, and Kaure knows the Ticuna legends about demon children, so she realised that Bella is pregnant."

They are all understandably alarmed (ironically, though, Rosalie is the least concerned), but their focus is the legends that are still on endless repeat in my head. They already know of their existence—they found references to them in their search for information on half-human, half-vampire children, but there was no actual detail—so, naturally, they want to know everything I know. I tell them exactly what I told Bella.

Bella interjects a couple of times to remind us that the legends' bloody tales could be the exaggerated acts of any vampire, but her condition adds formidable weight to the whole story. They are all shaken—all except Rosalie, of course. "We'll help the baby manage its thirst," she says, seconding Bella's confidence.

Meanwhile, Jasper considers the legends from the perspective of the vampire father. "What vampire with control enough to impregnate a woman would then abandon her?"

Esme agrees, thinking he surely wouldn't abandon the child either. "Maybe he didn't know," she suggests. "Maybe, for him, it was just sex."

Carlisle nods, wondering if anyone else had ever seen the vampire and how many times he'd visited the girl. I shrug before he needs to ask; I don't know the answer to either question. He sighs, and then shakes his head. The legends haven't told him anything he hadn't already guessed. "Bella," he says, taking her hand in his. "We can't risk changing you until the creature is out, and if we let it grow, there's every chance your heart won't be able to cope with the added strain."

"I'm strong enough," she replies stoutly. "Edward will change me as soon as the baby's born."

"That's something else we don't know," he points out. "How will the birth proceed? If we don't pre-empt it, you could end up in an unsurvivable condition." The image in his head of Bella's body split completely in two makes me flinch.

Esme rests a hand on Carlisle's back. "I know you'll figure it out, Lee," she murmurs. "For now, let's start with what we _do_ know—this baby is half human."

Carlisle draws in a breath. Our plight seems no less hopeless, but he appreciates the point she's making. "I'm theorising without data," he murmurs, paraphrasing Sherlock Holmes in the hope of making her smile; when it works, he feels infinitesimally better.

He glances at Alice, hoping that she has caught a glimpse of something— _anything_ —but she is too busy glaring at Bella's stomach to notice. I shake my head to let him know that Alice is as blind as the rest of us now. So he turns to Bella and asks to assess her condition.

"Is it all right if we stay?" Esme asks hopefully.

"Of course," Bella agrees, looking around at our family without any hint of embarrassment, so Carlisle immediately starts his examination.

He runs his hands across her stomach, feeling the firm lump of her womb.

"It wasn't as firm a few hours ago," I inform him. "And it has grown about three inches since we landed in Houston."

The others are concerned by the news—the speed of its growth matches the legend with scary accuracy—but Carlisle is horrified. He rushes to set up the ultrasound equipment, sending Esme to get Bella a quarter gallon of water to drink. I have to stop him before he tries to make her drink all of it in one go, too impatient to wait even ten minutes. He apologises to Bella, then asks if I'd like to help him prepare the ultrasound, but I shake my head. There is one piece of equipment I'm much more interested in—the humble stethoscope.

When I pick it up, Bella chuckles. "That's all you need to look like a doctor," she teases.

"Maybe a _television_ doctor."

"Except you have the skills to back it up."

I smile. "Few believe _Carlisle_ is a real doctor the first time."

She and Emmett laugh at that, but when Rosalie joins in, we all stop and stare at her. She sticks out her tongue, aware that we're surprised by her levity, and encourages me to _do my doctor thing_.

The moment I place the chest piece against Bella's stomach, I hear the faint 'swoosh' of the second heart inside Bella's body. It sounds just like the heartbeat of a foetus—except it's beating roughly ten times faster. I don't know what that means, but I focus on the positive.

"I can hear its heartbeat," I murmur, and Bella beams at me.

Esme and Rosalie immediately want to listen, but they wait while Carlisle and I 'discuss' the situation; he isn't reassured when I describe the familiarity of the sound, so he decides to wait for the ultrasound, which will be able to provide much more detailed acoustics. The others are more than happy to start with the stethoscope; Bella goes first, then Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett.

The five of us are soon grinning like lunatics, while the other three wait tensely for the ultrasound. Their patience is not exactly rewarded; although the curious heartbeat sounds clearly, the visual output is totally blank. The hardened womb is impenetrable.

Carlisle is not the least bit moved by the sound of the heart—he is too fixated on the danger the creature poses, and too focused on obtaining a more insightful picture of Bella's health—but Jasper is touched and Alice feels ever so slightly reassured by its familiar nature.

None of Carlisle's other machines is able to shed any light on Bella's internal condition. The lump causes interference in every scan, so we can't even assess the state of her organs. He doesn't ask for a blood test—yet—but he suggests trying an x-ray. Bella won't risk harming the baby and I doubt it will show anything useful anyway, so, after a fruitless half hour, he admits defeat.

To engage him in the joyous aspects of this new life, Bella encourages him to rest his hand on her stomach when the baby starts moving again. But the womb has now hardened to the point that even the vibration of the movement is dissipated by the protective layer. She can still feel it jiggling around inside her, but none of us can feel anything beyond the steady beat of her powerful heart and the gurgles of her body's various systems.

The reminder of the delicate balance that must be maintained inside her fragile body further convinces Carlisle that the chances of success are negligible. Esme's excitement pains him, but it also confuses him—until he decides that her _misplaced_ faith in him is the reason for her confidence. But watching the five of us smile and even joke, he realises that he is alone in the extremity of his fears, so he does his best to rally his spirits for all our sakes (even if he can't stop thinking about sedating Bella and cutting the offending object out of her). Only Jasper shares his doubts about Bella's physical capability. Alice is still afraid and worried, but she has taken heart from the baby's unique heartbeat, and Rosalie and Emmett are effusive in their anticipation of the future. Emmett can't wait to have a little niece or nephew _and_ a newborn Bella to play with, and his enthusiasm is further intensified by his excitement on Rosalie's behalf.

Trying to be as constructive as possible, Carlisle suggests that we undertake a second search for legends of human-born vampire children using the extra details Kaure provided. The uncertainty surrounding Bella's wellbeing aside, we're all intrigued by the possibility of there being half-human, half vampire hybrids somewhere in the world.

Bella takes the opportunity to relocate to the kitchen, so I follow her while the others retrieve their various internet-capable devices and start searching. Alice's headache improves a little with distance, so she and Jasper head up to their room to use Jasper's powerful computer.

The idea of asking our friends if they've ever heard anything about half-vampires has already been discussed and dismissed, so I apprise Bella of that matter while she makes herself a cottage-cheese-and-pickle sandwich.

"The Denali clan is the most likely of our friends to have heard of half-vampire children, but they knew about our honeymoon plans and presumed there'd be no complications, just as we all did."

Bella grins. "The exact opposite of all the humans, then?"

I have to laugh, though it pains me that the likes of Mike Newton have been proven right. "Yes," I allow. "Charlie's repeated insistence didn't convince anyone, not even his deputy."

She pouts at that. "He probably just made it worse."

"It wasn't his fault—the whole town was hassling him about it. They probably still are."

She heaves a sigh, but forgoes a response and starts on the sandwich instead. While she's eating I share with her the Denali sisters' painful history—that their beloved mother was executed by the Volturi for creating an immortal child. It isn't a pleasant story, but I think she needs the background because everyone else in our family (including me) is thinking about it. (Again, it is ironic that Rosalie—the one I'd expected to be incensed by the fact that I've endangered us for the umpteenth time—is the most accepting of the threat we all face if the baby were to incur the Volturi's wrath.)

After Bella is finished eating, we move into the lounge, where Rosalie and Emmett are waiting. They've already completed a few searches and come up with nothing new (some alien myths include hardened wombs, but there's no useful information preserved in them), so Rosalie is doodling a few designs for maternity dresses. Esme soon joins us; she didn't find anything of interest either, partly because she was distracted by stories of high-born vampire women being able to bear—over a 666-month pregnancy—children who age slowly for their first three centuries of life, then cease to age at an apparent age of 30 years old. (Carlisle stays in his room; he never bothered searching myths—his focus was and still is on unusual births and maternal conditions experienced during pregnancy. He hopes they might provide insights into supporting Bella's body in accepting and managing this abnormal state.)

To help ease a little tension, the five of us joke about the crazy alien myths that abound in many cultures. Esme likes the idea of aliens helping infertile women to have children, while my favourite little myth is that bees are aliens. Emmett thinks biomechanical aliens—like the Transformers—would be the most awesome thing ever, but Rosalie is sure that even we vampires will never know the truth about the existence or otherwise of space-travelling aliens.

"If there _are_ intelligent life forms visiting our planet," she says, "they won't show up in any myths about _aliens_ —even if they are interested in interacting with us, they're hardly going to go around saying they're from outer space."

"So, fairies could really be aliens?" Bella asks, building on Rosalie's suggestion.

"Yes, exactly," Rosalie agrees. "What looks like magic could easily be advanced science."

"Maybe the first vampire was created by an alien," I suggest.

They all laugh at that, but the conversation is forgotten when Bella gasps softly and hunches forwards a little. Her stomach is noticeably larger.

"What is it?" I ask, wrapping an arm around her waist as she stands up.

"I need to visit the bathroom."

"You're feeling sick?"

"No." She takes a step and then stops; her bladder must be protesting particularly hard. "Carry me?"

"Of course," I assure her, before gently lifting her in my arms.

When we return, Bella changes the subject, asking for stories of what they've all been doing while we were away (prior to yesterday). Esme goes first, describing her antique-hunting trips without giving away any details about the beautiful pieces she's collected or their intended purpose. Then Rosalie and Emmett take turns telling the story of their adventures hunting for a limited-edition, 1978 Indy 500 Pace Car Replica Corvette Stingray. Rosalie usually lets Emmett share their news, so the back-and-forth is very odd, but that only makes it even more enjoyable—for all of us.

As midday approaches, Bella admits to feeling cold, so Esme dials the heating up to maximum and we all put on a few extra layers in an attempt to insulate her as much as possible from our coldness as well as the cooler climate.

In parallel, to help boost Bella's internal temperature, Esme fries up a few eggs for her. But Bella only eats half of one before saying she's full. Concerned by the sudden downsizing of her appetite, Carlisle finally leaves his study and joins us downstairs. He is shocked by the increase in her girth.

Bella tries to downplay the discomfort of her rapidly expanding middle, but none of us is fooled.

"Would you be more comfortable in bed?" I ask.

"I'll fall asleep," she warns.

"That wouldn't be a bad thing," Carlisle murmurs.

Bella sighs, but then nods.

"Emmett and I got you a few different pregnancy pillows," Rosalie says, hoping to make the bed sound more inviting. "They're supposed to help support the baby."

"And they'll make awesome landing pads," Emmett adds, grinning as he pictures a race between himself and a newborn Bella, leaping from pillow to pillow along a two-mile course through the forest.

Bella chuckles. "Count me in."

I can't help rolling my eyes; I thought I'd been discreet, but they both notice—and laugh, though Bella's soft giggle is barely audible beneath Emmett's exuberant laughter.

 _Bella's gonna be my favourite brother soon_ , he teases.

Rosalie waves him to silence. "I've got a natural cream that should help your skin stretch," she tells Bella. "Do you want to try it?"

"Can't hurt," Bella replies, shrugging.

"You don't need to worry about stretch marks," Rosalie jokes as the six of us make our way upstairs, "but hopefully it will stop it feeling sore."

The moment we enter my room, Bella laughs at the state of the bed, which looks like a mass of fluffy white clouds. She strokes her hand across the Egyptian cotton comforter and then sits down, strategically collapsing onto one of the dozen pillows covering the majority of the bed. "Incredible," she declares happily, already closing her eyes.

But she opens them again so that Rosalie can show her the Vitamin E-based cream. To limit heat loss as much as possible, Bella rubs it into her skin herself; when she moves aside her clothing, the long scar-like lines across her sides are a shock for all of us. Esme starts ushering everyone from the room to give her some privacy, but when Rosalie protests, Bella says she doesn't mind if they stay. Her lack of self-consciousness makes me smile. It's another reminder that she feels totally in control, despite the baby's alarming growth rate.

Carlisle wants to try again with his scanning equipment, but I can't see how the outcome will be any different than before—especially when the impeding lump is even larger. I shake my head to discourage him from making the suggestion.

As soon as the cream has been applied, I assist Bella in swapping the dress for a pyjama top and then she wraps herself in the soft blankets. She chuckles contentedly and then holds out a hand for me—but I'm afraid to join her.

"I don't want to make you cold."

She gives a soft sigh and tucks her hand beneath the blankets once more. It looks as though she intends to speak, but she actually falls asleep in the middle of opening her mouth.

"Is that normal?" Rosalie whispers anxiously, asking Carlisle, as a doctor, and me, as the one who's seen Bella fall asleep hundreds of times.

"I'd have to say no," I murmur. "But this _is_ an unusual situation."

"How much sleep did she get on the way here?" Carlisle asks, thinking he'd be less worried if she hadn't had much rest on either flight.

"About ten hours' worth. But she didn't get much sleep last night. She'll probably wake up in an hour or so."

Carlisle sighs, not overly reassured. He fears how much larger the uterus will have become in another hour. If she looks six months pregnant after less than three weeks, just how fast will the pregnancy proceed? Will she be full term in seven weeks?

"At least her body won't have to bear the pregnancy for long," I say, trying out Bella's argument.

"The intensity of strain on her system must be severe," he replies. "Her heart could give out at any moment."

Esme, Rosalie, and I all flinch at that. Esme wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Listen to it, Lee," she counters. "It's stronger than ever."

"For now," he mumbles darkly, but he does his best to shift his focus back to the various ideas he has come up with to help manage the pregnancy. The one I dislike least is the idea of pureeing Bella's food to help her ingest as much nutrition as possible.

"A fruit smoothie would probably go down well," I suggest.

Esme smiles. "We've got plenty of fruit," she says; "fresh and frozen."

Carlisle manages half a smile before going downstairs to lay out potential ingredients for a high-nutrient smoothie.

The rest of us stay where we are, not even breathing. Standing sentinel over our sleeping angel.


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen: Herald**

While the four of us watch over Bella, Alice and Jasper are still searching for new details about human-vampire hybrids. They've found a couple of legends about babies born with all their milk teeth, but they both turn out to be horror stories at heart, lacking in any actual substance. In one, the baby is werewolf spawn and has prominent canines; in the other, the baby is human, but is born without a soul and feeds on the souls of others. Thanks to its potent venom, a single bite is enough to kill a grown man, and then it eats its victim's soul as it leaves the body.

Alice can't bear to keep reading; she can't help overlaying our situation onto the grisly tale, imagining the creature eating Bella's soul. She wraps her arms around Jasper and buries her face in his neck. It is hard to listen to her despairing thoughts, but my companions' help anchor me. Esme is adamant that our venom can work miracles—she is living proof—and Rosalie is determined to help her sister survive to see her baby. Even Emmett's thoughts are helpful as he pictures our whole family, Bella and the baby included, going bear hunting… until his memory of Rosalie taking down an African lion takes the fore and it turns into a vivid reliving of his and Rosalie's passionate lovemaking immediately afterwards (interspersed with teasing thoughts about the _tame_ _affair_ Bella and I call sex). But I can't bring myself to complain because the irritation helps distract me from my fears (and Alice's).

Bella wakes up after 42 minutes. She smiles at the four of us, then says she's hungry, so I describe the smoothie Carlisle has planned. I've barely listed half the potential ingredients before she's climbing out of bed. I'm tempted to suggest that she stay here, but Esme guesses my plan and points out that a little, gentle movement is good for her, so I merely take my place beside her, ready to support her if she needs it.

When I don't offer to carry her downstairs, she grins at me. "Thank you," she says, taking my hand before making her way carefully from step to step.

Emmett can't resist hassling her about how slow she is, but she just laughs and then reminds him that he's going to regret all this taunting when she's stronger than he is. As they banter back and forth, I find myself picturing it—Bella as a glorious immortal, beating Emmett at every contest he can think of.

Carlisle meets the five of us in the kitchen. "How are you feeling?" he asks Bella.

"Good," she replies; then she grins. "Hungry."

He puts on his best doctor smile and gestures to the food-covered bench. "What would you like?"

The two of them work up a relatively simple smoothie containing banana, coconut, an assortment of berries, oatmeal, and milk. Bella snacks on a couple of carrot sticks and quarter of an apple while waiting for the blender, and then she pours a portion of the mixture into a mug and takes a tentative swig.

"Not bad," she allows. "Needs a bit of cinnamon or something, though—" and then she gasps and hunches forwards, only just managing to lean over the sink before she starts to vomit.

While I hold her hair out of her face, I try not to let the others' worries escalate mine. But it's not easy hearing Carlisle's diagnosis—or Alice's terror as she dashes downstairs to join us. Jasper follows more slowly, just as concerned for his beloved mate as he is for Bella.

"Sorry," Bella murmurs when the nausea passes.

I stroke my hand across her forehead and then pour her a glass of water, while Esme says, "There's nothing to apologise for." She doesn't quite manage to keep the worry out of her voice.

Bella gives her a small smile and then accepts the glass of water. She takes a mouthful and swishes it round her mouth before spitting it out and then having a proper drink. After setting down the glass, she eyes the ingredients on the bench. "Maybe I should eat each one separately to see what did it."

Carlisle sighs. "I don't think it's the food, Bella."

"What do you mean?"

"Carlisle—" I start to say, hoping he'll reconsider his response, but they both wave me silent.

"I think there are two factors at play," he says sombrely. "Your body is struggling to ingest food because of the foreign mass squashing your gut, and because the creature's biology is directly interfering with your bodily functions." As far as he's concerned, the baby is a tumour feeding off Bella's body. It doesn't care about its own survival; its only purpose is to grow. It will exploit its current resources until they are spent, whether or not it can sustain its own life at that point, and if Bella and the rest of us won't let him extract it right now, it is already too late.

"Interfering how?" Bella asks bemusedly.

"Your body is no longer working to sustain you—it is merely food for the creature."

She squares her jaw and then nods. "Okay. So there's no point trying to eat?"

Carlisle is stunned by her matter-of-factness. In all his deliberations, _fasting_ hadn't even been considered as a viable option.

In response to his obvious shock, Bella says, "I can go without food for a few weeks."

He shakes his head. "Fasting is one thing; surviving the creature is something else entirely."

"I don't have to _survive_ ," she reminds him gently. "Whatever happens, you know Edward won't give up. He'll make it work, even if he has to pump the blood around my body himself."

Although Emmett is highly amused by the thought of me performing CPR on Bella for three days straight, even he is still more concerned about Bella's wellbeing and Carlisle's bleakness.

But Bella's unwavering determination might be helping Carlisle gain a little perspective. He can't deny that the human body is capable of overcoming incredible physical hardships… Except uncertainty quickly strangles that nascent hope. If she bleeds out or her body is compromised in any way, the transformation will be impeded—and then he suddenly worries that the creature might neutralise our venom.

I can't help reacting to that. The thought of losing Bella hits me like a million bolts of lightning.

Bella strokes my cheek. "I know it sounds scary," she murmurs, "but it'll be okay. I'm not going to die."

I press my lips to her forehead. "I _will_ do whatever it takes," I vow.

"I know," she replies, smiling up at me.

The thoughts of our family echo my vow, though their perspectives vary greatly. Carlisle and Alice are struggling to cling to the hope that there _is_ a way to keep Bella alive, while Esme and Rosalie are respectively trying to come up with ways to comfort and distract her over the next few weeks, which are going to be uncomfortable to say the least.

Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, Emmett tries to engage Alice in a game of chess: now that she can't "cheat", he is dying to play her. But Alice can't even work up the energy to reply. She feels utterly useless—worse than useless, because she knows her thoughts are upsetting for me. Searching for vampire hybrids feels like the only thing she can do. There isn't much chance she'll be able to find one before Bella gives birth (she can't help agreeing with Carlisle that _dying_ is the more likely alternative), but doing nothing is steadily eating away at her sanity.

When I take her hand, she looks up guiltily, ashamed of her dark thoughts and her desire to leave. She can't help feeling like she'd be running away when Bella's life is on the line.

"If you could find out anything more about the Ticuna legends, that would be very helpful," I tell her, hoping to reassure her.

Bella and the others immediately demand to be apprised of our conversation, so Alice tentatively proposes using her headache as a kind of proxy to track the hybrids.

Carlisle spurns the desperate quest, but Bella says nothing as she watches Alice struggle to explain her embryonic plan to the others. I think she agrees with me, but I can't tell from her concerned expression.

After a minute, though, she takes Alice's hand, drawing the focus onto herself, and then says, "You should go."

Alice doesn't know what to say. She can see Bella's encouraging smile, but she can't _feel_ it. She feels like a bad sister.

"Edward's right," Bella goes on. "You can help us better by going, and you can always come home after the baby's born. You'll have three days before I wake up again, anyway."

Alice eyes Bella for another few seconds before letting herself feel the relief of having our blessing. She nods. "See you soon," she murmurs, giving her a brief hug as she fights the idea that this might be the last time they're together.

Jasper starts a round of hugs with the rest of us, and then the two of them dash upstairs to pack a few things before exiting the house via their bedroom window.

We're all quiet for a minute after they leave, contemplating the chances of their search being successful. Alice's headache starts to clear when they are a mile away, and then she catches her first vision two miles after that. It is a simple one, of Jasper suggesting they hunt on their way to the coast, but it's a huge relief for her to have her sight back, and her rising spirits help buoy mine. If there is anything—or anyone—out there to find, I know she'll find it.

To refocus our attention on something productive, Esme suggests a couple of crafty activities. Bella does her best to rally her energy, but she starts yawning after a few minutes of knitting, so I carry her back to bed. Rosalie requests the others' assistance in refashioning some of the maternity clothes into something more supportive for Bella, hoping to make this time as comfortable as possible, and the four of them end up making an unexpectedly merry party. The small but unmistakeable upswing in Carlisle's mood is brilliant for all of us.

This time, Bella sleeps for almost three hours. She is cheerful when she wakes, despite her extra girth and the obvious toll the baby's rapid growth is taking on her body. To Rosalie's delight, she loves the maternity dresses they've made for her. She swaps her pyjamas for a dress with a reinforced bodice that supports her tummy while still allowing for further expansion. Then we play a game of Canasta with Esme and Emmett until Bella starts feeling tired again.

"I can't wait until I never have to sleep again," she quips, much to the others' amusement. For myself, I can't even see the joke; I'm too pleased that she doesn't feel deprived by our inability to sleep.

After quarter of an hour, when she is sure that Bella is asleep, Rosalie comes upstairs. She takes my hand and tells me that she's sorry for every bad thing she's ever said or thought about me, and about Bella.

"I'm sorry, too," I murmur.

She shrugs. "I probably deserved most of it," she jokes lightly; but then shame colours her thoughts as she remembers her callous resolve to kill Bella. _All those times I wished you'd killed her just to make my life simpler…_

The thing that most pains her is that she'd even wished the remorse of killing her on my conscious.

"I forgive you."

Emmett is too curious about our conversation to stay away any longer, so he arrives just in time to watch his wife throw her arms around me.

 _Thank you, Edward_ , she thinks, hugging me tightly, grateful for my forgiveness. But she's thanking me for more than that; she's thanking me for enduring her selfishness and concealing the shameful depths of her shallowness, and for giving her such a beautiful, brave sister.

"Oi," Emmett complains teasingly. "If there are hugs on offer, I—"

"No," Rosalie interrupts, knowing full well that Emmett wants more than a hug. "I'm not leaving Bella."

"She doesn't need all five of us."

"I don't care," Rosalie retorts, releasing me so she can fix her mate with her fierce gaze. "I'm not leaving her."

"Okay, then—"

"No."

Emmett sighs, resigning himself to the longest wait of his life (since becoming a vampire, he's never gone more than 29 hours without sex—and it's been almost 21 hours already). It doesn't help that at the end of the wait, he's going to have competition in the form of the baby Rosalie has wanted more than anything since 1933.

But, for once, the thought of being relegated to second doesn't bother him in the slightest. Seeing Rosalie happy, seeing _me_ happy, and having Bella a permanent (and considerably less breakable) fixture in his family will more than make up for it. None of that makes the wait any less frustrating, though.

I pat his shoulder. "Without _condoning_ anything, let me just say that I empathise. Truly."

He chuckles softly, realising that we're _both_ going to have competition once the baby's born. " _Empathise?_ " he teases. "That would involve knowing what sex actually feels like."

" _Hilarious_ ," I quip, folding my arms, while Rosalie smothers a chuckle.

 _So how many times did you do it?_ , he asks, part teasing, part genuinely curious.

"Don't bother asking," I retort. "I'm not telling." I immediately regret my fervent refusal when it bolsters the idea that it really was a one-time deal. "More than once," I mutter, but it doesn't undo my first, thoughtless response (even Rosalie starts to wonder, though she quickly decides that Bella wouldn't have let me go a week—let alone 19 days—without indulging her a second time).

 _Two orgasms one after the other is still only_ one _time_ , Emmett points out, recalling my account of the night we arrived on Isle Esme.

"I don't disagree."

"About what?" Rosalie asks, amused by my phrasing; what did Emmett think that I didn't want to _agree_ with outright?

"He's trying to convince me they had sex more than once," Emmett explains. Then he smirks at me. "It isn't working."

She chuckles. "I think they _did_ ," she offers, playing up the hesitancy in her voice. "But only because Bella's not a scaredy-cat."

" _Rosie_ ," Esme calls out on her way to rescue me from my snickering siblings. "Both of you, leave the boy alone," she says, squeezing in between Emmett and me so she can wrap her arm around me. But as she does so, she is thinking that Bella's enhanced confidence was very likely born of having to be forceful with me.

" _Thanks_ ," I say dryly. "I'm so glad you're here to defend me."

"I'm sorry, Wadie," she replies, not the least bit sorry. To "apologise", she says, "Judging by Bella's happiness, you performed your duties as husband with your usual degree of talent."

"You mean, _Bella_ performed them," Emmett "corrects".

The other two stifle a giggle, knowing full well he's implying that I lay back and let her have me rather than daring to take part in our lovemaking.

"If _you_ could remember what being a virgin is like," Esme tells him reprovingly, "you might be less critical."

As Emmett jokes back, I consider speaking up to defend myself—except I can't bring myself to admit that I hurt Bella the first time. So I let them joke about the long years of "avidly" guarding my virginity and my resulting timorousness. Somehow, Rosalie's horrific experience gives their jests a darker edge that makes the digs at my bashfulness less personal, and I can't help being amused by their remarks about Bella's boldness. I need their assurance that I'm not the only one who's noticed her newly heightened strength.

But I weary of their mockery long before they do, so I'm grateful when my unconscious wife comes to my aid.

"Edward," she suddenly declares, interrupting Emmett's recounting of the time I ran away from a pair of mating _bears_ because I'm so prudish.

Everyone looks at her; I do, too, but I'm the only one who knows she hasn't woken up. She is sleep-talking again. I suppose it means she isn't sleeping as deeply as she has been, but I can't help hoping it's because she's feeling more relaxed.

"She's still asleep," I murmur to the others.

They all stare at me. "She's _asleep_?" Rosalie whispers.

I nod. "Picture _that_ the first time I broke into her room in the middle of the night."

Esme chuckles. "You thought she'd caught you."

I smile back. "She had."

Right on cue, Bella murmurs, "I love you."

They all smile, although Emmett wishes she'd said something embarrassing—like, _you're doing it wrong_.

But she doesn't. Instead, she starts talking to our beautiful baby, whom she is clearly picturing in _my_ image as devotedly as I picture a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl (because it feels more likely that a girl would be more like Bella than me).

By the time Bella falls silent, my tormentors are too full of the warm fuzzies to resume their previous sport. Esme gives me a kiss on the cheek, then goes back to keep Carlisle company, and Rosalie and Emmett head downstairs to make more maternity clothes for Bella. They go ridiculously overboard—it's not as though Bella will be leaving the house while she's still pregnant—but I appreciate their efforts, and Rosalie's fantasies about a gorgeous, giggling baby help me through the long night watching Bella's stomach swell before my very eyes.

Bella has another bout of sleep-talking before she finally awakens, before dawn, gasping with the need to empty her bladder. Even though I carry her to the bathroom, she almost has an accident on the way, which makes her whole face and neck flush with embarrassment. Her skin is wan and waxy, though, so the intensity of her physical reaction is considerably subdued. I reassure her as best I can, and then help her walk back to the bedroom.

From the size of her stomach, I'd say she looks about six months pregnant. Even allowing for a tailing off in growth rate as the baby gets bigger, I estimate that she'll reach full term before the end of the week. Right now, as she carefully sips the water Rosalie brought her, it doesn't feel soon enough.

She seems more tired than she had when she went to sleep, and she also seems to be in pain. Being stealthy about it, I raise the option of painkillers, but she says she's fine and then tries to distract us with a brief description of the baby's jiving (we still can't feel anything beyond a general vibration). When she asks if there's been any news from Alice, I wonder how long she thinks she's slept for. She asks for a cuddle, so I make sure she is fully swathed in blankets and then lie down beside her, counting on her to fall asleep again before she gets too cold (which is hard to judge when her lips are so pale).

But she can't settle in any position, so she's still awake after half an hour. When she asks for a little pain relief, I know she's feeling bad. Rosalie brings her a couple of tablets and a fresh glass of water, while I help her to sit up. Except she gags before she's even placed the tablet in her mouth—a clear sign that she won't be able to stomach the medicine.

Tears well up in her eyes as she struggles through the painful muscle contractions, but she manages to relax after a moment. It is hard to watch her suffer, especially when I know it's only going to get worse. As a few stray tears slide down her pale cheeks, I'm sorely tempted to suggest that we get the baby out now—after all, most human babies survive being born prematurely nowadays—but I force myself to be patient. If I make the suggestion too early, it might devalue my judgement when it _is_ time.

So I lie back down with her, acceding to her request to place my hand on her forehead for a minute. She doesn't complain when I shift my hand after a few seconds, but she objects when I move to get up, saying my coolness isn't affecting her. Then, in the next breath, she says she's feeling hot, so I'm pretty sure she's hypothermic. Carlisle thinks so, too. He checks her temperature—ignoring her protests—and confirms that it's below 95 degrees. I try not to expose my anxiety, but Bella doesn't need to see it to know how I'm feeling.

"Call Seth," she says. "Invite him over."

" _What?_ " Rosalie snaps.

"He won't mind sharing his warmth."

"Absolutely not!" Rosalie exclaims, convinced that he'll react to the pregnancy with instinctive, mindless fear. She looks to the others to back her up, ignoring me because I'm "irrational" when it comes to the "overexuberant pup".

She is probably right: if the pack sees the creature as a violation of our treaty, our whole family would be at risk, but I do trust Seth to hear our news without putting the treaty in immediate jeopardy, and Bella shares none of Rosalie's concerns. When the others' views lie somewhere in the middle—even Carlisle's—Rosalie is quickly overruled.

In case someone other than Seth answers the phone, and to protect our secret if any of his pack-mates are currently in wolf form, Esme calls the Clearwaters' house on our behalf. By happy chance, despite the early hour, it is Seth's familiar, cheerful voice that issues from the phone's speaker, so Esme is quick to invite him over—and he is quick to agree. I can tell from his tone that he realises something has changed since he last spoke to her a week ago, and then a few minutes later, I get confirmation in his thoughts.

Although he is deliberately focusing on _his_ life, in case Bella and I are the reason for this sudden invitation, he can't help wondering if something went wrong and Bella is a vampire already. That thought doesn't bother him in the slightest; he only worries that _I_ am upset about it (because he's sure Bella won't be). His absolute faith in our ability to help her control her thirst further strengthens my hope that we can control the baby's thirst, too.

Esme meets him at the door with a pair of track pants and then leads him upstairs, explaining that Bella and I arrived home yesterday. It feels like a lifetime ago that I last saw him, so it's reassuring that he hasn't changed a bit. He is surprised to find a bed in my room (he not only knows about the cottage that Esme and the others were readying for us, but has even painted a mural in the 'secret' library/music room), and healthy people don't stay in bed when they have guests, confirming that there is something wrong, but Bella looks okay and he's too happy to see me to think too deeply into the mystery just now. He bounds across the room and throws his arms around me.

"I know _you_ didn't miss _me_ ," he jokes, "but I missed the hell out of you."

Bella gives a soft chuckle. "Wouldn't Carlisle let you borrow the car?"

That makes him laugh, but his sharp ears detect the strain in her voice, so he knows now that she _is_ unwell. He releases me and takes a closer look at her. She holds out a hand and he takes it at once, shocked by how cold it is—especially when we've got the heat cranked way up.

He glances at me. _I could warm her up?_ , he offers, picturing sitting down beside her.

I nod, interrupting his half-formed thought about asking for a t-shirt, so he looks back at Bella.

"You're freezing, Bells. Want some of _my_ heat?"

She grins. "Yes, please—the central heating isn't helping."

"I am _way_ better than central heating," he agrees, grinning back. He sits down on Bella's other side, shoving aside pillows to make room, and wraps an arm around her as he stretches out his legs along the bed.

Bella is so cold that he starts when she rests her cheek against his shoulder, and then she sighs contentedly and snuggles into him, catching him off guard. He knows she's not doing it with any sort of sexual intent, but he can't help the thrill that sweeps through him at Bella—though he tries to think of her as a generic pretty girl—pressing herself against his bare chest. He offers me an apology for not being such a good heater after all, while correctly hoping that I'm more grateful to have a solution to Bella's temperature woes, and then he tries to focus on the problem he hasn't figured out yet.

"How come you're home?" he asks, directing the question at me to spare Bella having to talk.

But she claims it anyway. "I'm pregnant, Seth," she murmurs, getting straight to it.

Rosalie and Emmett ready themselves in case he reacts badly to the news, but although he is understandably surprised, he takes it in stride. _Half-human, half-_ vampire _?!_ , he thinks. "I didn't know that was possible."

"Neither did we," Bella jokes.

He immediately shares the worry that he can see in my eyes. Then he scrutinises her baggy top and the blankets wrapped around her more closely, realising that they are hiding an enormous bump. "The baby's done all that growing in three weeks?"

"He's strong," she says affectionately; "like his daddy."

Seth has seen pregnant women, so Bella's love for her unborn child isn't surprising to him, even though this baby is far from natural. He wonders if it is directly drawing on her blood or gaining nutrients in the usual way—and that brings my own questions into focus. What if the baby literally wants _blood_?

While I think through the implications of that, Seth suddenly wonders what a baby vampire will be like. How uncontrollable will its thirst be?

"One problem at a time," I say, feeling a sudden, intense burst of hope that actually makes me feel like joking. "What if the baby's needs are already like ours?"

"He's thirsty!" Bella exclaims, looking up at me, clearly thrilled by the possible new insight when she really ought to be horrified. I don't know why her backwards instincts still surprise me, but perhaps it's because I keep imposing a limit on her forbearance when she doesn't have one. "Better go get me a deer," she teases.

I sigh. "If it's craving blood, it's not craving _animal_ blood…"

She frowns. "You want to feed our baby _human_ blood?"

"Carlisle has some O negative set aside for you," Rosalie speaks up, already considering the most "efficient" way to administer it.

"Won't he get a taste for it?" Bella asks; Seth nods, seconding the question.

My automatic response (and that of my family) is that he will already have plenty of hunger for human blood, but I don't want to upset either of them. "Human blood will have a greater effect," I say instead.

She sighs, but then nods. "All right," she agrees.

Rosalie dashes downstairs to retrieve the blood from the special fridge Carlisle purchased the day we discovered the pregnancy, before we've even settled on the mode of delivery. Carlisle is leaning towards setting up some sort of transfusion, but I like the sound of that about as much as I like Rosalie's idea that Bella should just drink it straight. Heedless of Bella's physical limitations but considerate of her wellbeing, she chooses an opaque straw and fashions a lid for the mug to limit the gruesomeness of this abrupt introduction to our way of life.

I take a deep breath and steel myself to forewarn Bella. "Rosalie's putting some blood in a cup—for you to drink."

Her eyes widen, and Seth wrinkles his nose, but it only takes a moment for her to start nodding, and even Seth sees the logic in it.

"That's the quickest way, isn't it?" she says, glancing between me and Carlisle.

"It's the most direct," I acknowledge, as Rosalie returns with her macabre drink, "but human bodies don't react well to blood so it's also the least likely to work."

Bella was already nodding despite my warning, so she accepts the cup without hesitation. "If I throw up, we'll try something else," she says blithely; but then she looks at Seth. "You don't have to stay," she murmurs apologetically.

He shrugs. "I'm okay—you were gonna start drinking blood eventually."

She smiles gratefully, and I am equally grateful for his incredible open-mindedness. I already had his full measure, but I am freshly moved by his generosity of spirit.

Before taking a sip, Bella pushes the bedcovers aside, so I assume she's going to get up in case she does vomit, but then her nostrils flare a little and she freezes. I worry that the smell is already making her feel sick, but there is nothing woozy about the way she wraps her lips around the straw.

Every mind in the room is fixed on her, scrutinising her every move, as she takes a recklessly large sip. I try to prepare myself for the fallout—maybe explosive spitting or an immediate gag reflex or a coughing fit—but there's no hesitation as she swallows the mouthful of blood.

When she pauses to breathe, a little blood leaks out, staining her bottom lip. It is beyond strange to smell the foreign blood on her—but even stranger to watch her tongue flick out to catch the stray drop.

"It's good," she mumbles self-consciously, before taking another sip.

Seth chuckles; the rest of us are all too relieved to even move. Her unnatural taste for blood is the strongest indicator of success we could hope for. More than that, it suggests that the baby _has_ altered her bodily function, but in a way that will surely support the transformation from human to vampire, not impede it.

Bella empties the cup in less than a minute. Rosalie takes it, intending to refill it immediately, but Carlisle stops her before I have to.

"She's still human," he reminds her gently. "Let's take it slow."

Rosalie nods, seeing the sense in that, so she simply takes the cup back downstairs and places it inside the blood fridge so it's ready the moment Bella wants more.

Esme steps forward and takes Bella's hand. "How do you feel?" she asks hopefully.

Bella smiles. "Good," she says simply, and the colour already returning to her cheeks and lips confirms it.

"Wonderful!" Esme gushes, releasing Bella's hand before her chill can steal too much of her warmth. So _I_ end up on the receiving end of her full jubilation. _This is going to work, Wadie!_ , she thinks, hugging me tightly.

For the first time, Carlisle shares her excitement. No normal human would be able to stomach so much blood, so Bella's body must be coping with it somehow. Which suggests that her body is coping with the pregnancy, too. When he voices his tentatively hopeful assessment, the others' worries fade away (my own are a little more persistent, but they're easy to ignore).

I want to share this unexpected boon with Alice, so I grab my cell phone off my desk and send her a brief text saying that Bella's feeling better.

"Wow," Bella blurts. "No more food."

The point takes us all by surprise. Suddenly, I realise that I won't get to showcase the full extent of my culinary skills. Seth will have to enjoy my cooking on Bella's behalf.

When I tell him so, he chuckles, trying not to think of the 'treat' Bella has just consumed. "How about a burger later?" he jokes, amused by the thought of a _vampire_ making a burger.

"Edward can do way better than a burger," Bella says, championing my skill.

"You can _actually_ cook?" he asks me. _Have you been holding out on me?_

"I wanted it to be a surprise for Bella."

Before Seth can ask for details, my phone rings. "Alice," I say as I accept the call, putting it on speaker.

" _What happened?_ "

"You know the O neg Carlisle got for Bella? She just had some—drank it."

" _Drank?_ "

"A whole eight ounces."

She doesn't answer straight away, but the six of us with enhanced senses can hear Jasper's delighted laughter. " _Why didn't_ I _think of that?_ " he quips.

"Alice?" Bella asks.

" _Bella! You're really feeling better?_ "

"Much better, and the baby is, too."

"Thanks to me," Seth pipes up.

" _Seth?_ " Alice asks sharply, no doubt feeling the same anxieties Rosalie does. " _You can't tell the pack!_ "

"I won't," Seth promises; he knows keeping the secret won't be easy, but he has to. We can't risk the pack taking exception to our baby vampire. I regret telling them about the immortal children, because I agree with Seth that it's the first thing they're going to think of. And I can't blame them because it's a worry I share. Even if the baby is perfect, even if every single thing goes right, how can we possibly teach a _baby_ impulse control? Will we have to seal the kid inside a concrete bunker for the first 15 years to protect the townsfolk?

" _Be careful_ ," Alice advises, confirming that she hasn't had any visions that could help us.

"How's it going?" Bella asks, changing the subject.

" _Slowly,_ " she admits heavily. " _Hardly anyone will talk to us. I wish we'd practised more Portuguese with Edward._ "

" _We've got a lead_ ," Jasper speaks up.

" _A small one_ ," Alice qualifies.

"That's still good," Bella enthuses, "and you don't have to worry about me anymore."

" _I'll always worry about you_ ," Alice shoots back. " _But it's a relief that you're not going hungry_."

"Good, I'm glad."

" _You just focus on getting through in one piece_."

"I'll be fine, Alice," she promises. "Go chase up that lead."

" _See you soon_ ," Alice replies, and the rest of us, Jasper included, get in a quick 'bye' before she hangs up.

"Do you think they've found one?" Bella asks hopefully.

I shrug. After briefly explaining Alice and Jasper's mission to Seth, I answer Bella; "I can't say whether she'd be _more_ or _less_ forthcoming if the lead were about a child as opposed to the legends."

Rosalie isn't happy with how much Seth knows. "How do you expect to keep all this to yourself?" she asks him.

"I could stay over," he suggests, trying to make a joke out of it.

"I'm sorry," Bella murmurs. "I didn't mean to hold you hostage—I just wanted you here for Edward's sake."

He laughs. "I'm fine, Bells. And if Edward can cook as well as he drives, you won't be able to get rid of me."

"Stop encouraging him," Bella chides, but she can't help chuckling. "He drives too fast."

"According to _you_ ," Seth teases.

She gives him a gentle nudge with her elbow and then holds out her hand for me.

I take it gently, kissing her knuckles as I kneel down beside the bed. "Is there anything you'd like to do now? Maybe we could go for a short walk in a few minutes… A bit of movement might help. I think we shouldn't assume—"

Seth reaches across Bella to shove my head lightly. "You _think_ too much," he says, his thoughts overlaying _worry_ onto the statement. Though he appreciates that there is plenty to worry about in this situation, he is absolutely right. I am exposing my nerves.

The joke makes Bella chuckle. She squeezes my hand. "The baby and I are going to be just fine."

I smile and stand up. "Is there room for me, too?"

"Of course!"

The two of them shift over and Bella giggles at the warm spot Seth has created. He rubs her arm, pleased by how much warmer she already feels. He almost asks how long we think it'll be before the birth, before deciding to wait. His picture of the future, after the baby is born, is especially comforting: he imagines a normal, happy little baby, and Bella and me as happy as he's ever seen us.

"Quil imprinted," he says, reminded of his big news.

Bella's eyes widen. "When?"

"Right after you got married." _Everyone's a bit freaked out_ , he adds, talking only to me because he's not sure Bella and the others will understand—Quil's girl is currently two years old.

"Wow."

He nods. "That's _four_ now—some of us are starting to get a bit twitchy."

She bites her lip, and I know, as do Seth and the others, that she's thinking about _one_ someone in particular. After another moment's hesitation, she asks, "How's—?"

"He's okay," he interrupts, letting her leave his name unsaid. "Wondering about you," he admits. He skims through memories of the myriad excuses Jacob has thought up for Bella's 'death', showing me how unhappy the poor boy is.

"Should I call him?"

 _No way!_ , he thinks. "Not yet," he says instead, tempering his true thoughts.

She nods, but she looks a little sad. To take her mind off it, Seth goes back to his news. "Quil's so happy about imprinting, he thinks it's even more awesome being a wolf because he's strong enough to protect his girl."

"I'm looking forward to that, too," she says happily, giving me a teasing grin as everyone laughs.

Before Emmett makes a verbal joke, I offer to share a few stories about our time on Isle Esme. They all listen eagerly, and Bella chimes in to share her favourite moments and places on the island. Even so, Emmett soon starts asking for all the "gory" details.

"There aren't any," Bella insists. "Everything was perfect."

"So the house is still standing, is it?" he jokes.

"The house is fine," she replies primly. Then she adds, "Only the beds need replacing."

He laughs uproariously at that, and then claps his hands twice in appreciation. "Boring," he quips, since a bed is far from the only—or the best—location, "but not bad for a couple of novices."

"If it's only the beds," Esme says teasingly, "I'll let you go back."

Emmett sticks out his tongue at her, protesting his and Rosalie's ban—and then he lets fly with all the raunchier thoughts he's been holding back. His favourite is still that I was so scared, I just lay there the whole time, but he embellishes it now with the detail that Bella didn't mind one bit because she loved playing with her "Edward sex doll".

Thankfully oblivious to Emmett's taunts, Bella and Esme focus on the idea of a return trip, agreeing that they would be happy to share the small island. Emmett jokes aloud that the four of us will be able to share because one couple won't be having "proper" sex, but Bella ignores him and instead raises the idea of staying there for her 'newborn retreat'. Emmett is all too happy to tell her where he and Rosalie spent his "wild" years, including more than one joke about us not needing the same sort of conditions.

Bella simply shakes her head and then talks over the top of him, suggesting that we get the stethoscope and have another listen to the baby's heartbeat. Seth is excited even before he hears the sound, and thrilled when it matches his expectations.

"The heartbeat of a vampire—now I've heard everything," he jokes.

The others don't quite know how to react to his ongoing enthusiasm, but they appreciate it as much as Bella and I do. When Bella expresses hope that the baby is warm-blooded, Esme jumps at the chance to suggest knitting or quilting some special blankets for the baby, one of the many projects she has in mind. I like her idea about making some woollen toys, so I let them agree on a couple of designs before asking about that instead.

Long before midday, Seth's stomach starts growling. The two humans discuss a few options—joking with each other about the anticipated extent of my culinary skill—before Seth decides he'd like pizza. He thinks it's hilarious that I can make it all from scratch, and he's not the only one.

The whole household accompanies me downstairs to watch me work, so I move at human speed to show off my cooking talents. Esme can cook, too, but I'm more a novelty. When I point out the hypocrisy, Esme says that it's because cooking requires patience and they all know I have none.

I can't argue with that, so I ask Seth what he'd like for dinner instead.

"Pizza," Bella jokes, eyeing the three large bases I've worked up.

"He'd need to make a few more for that," Seth points out, grinning but serious—over two meals, he figures he could eat at least five pizzas.

I screw up my nose at the thought of him ingesting so much dough. "I'll make something else."

"Don't forget dessert," he jokes, thinking that one of the pizzas could serve as a second course.

"Dessert _pizza_?" I say doubtfully, and they both laugh at my expression. Seth fondly recalls the pocket pizzas Leah used to make for them (back when she was happy), filled with fried banana, cream, and dark chocolate. "I suppose I can picture it," I allow. "But not today."

"What _could_ you make?" Seth asks with interest.

"Chocolate mud cake?" I suggest, since that's his favourite.

He grins, but he's already thinking about chocolate _cheesecake_ … he's never had one, so it is a particular curiosity for him.

"You wouldn't rather have something warm?"

"Are you just stalling 'cos you don't know how to make it?"

I can't help laughing. "I've read a cheesecake recipe or two," I counter. "We might not have cream cheese, though…"

He gasps and dashes to the fridge to check, then sighs when he finds an eight-ounce pot beneath a pot of kefir yoghurt. _Man, you have everything!_

"Esme is very thorough."

He chuckles, then realises there's a problem. "Even _I_ can't eat all this."

"Esme donates any uneaten food before it goes bad."

The solution pleases him. "I'd be happy to help with that on an ongoing basis," he jokes.

"We feed you plenty," I retort.

He just laughs and starts picking out potential toppings for the pizzas.

While the pizzas are in the oven, Seth rings Sue to let her know where he is and ask if he can stay over. When he tells her I'm cooking, the incredulity in her voice makes me smile.

"He's made pizzas for lunch and he's going to make empanadas for dinner," he tells her cheerfully.

She chuckles. "Now I know why you don't want to come home."

"Yep. You should invite Charlie over."

"I already have," she replies, her voice tightening.

"Good," he says simply, wanting her to know that he approves (without pushing). He has noticed how much closer the two of them have become in the few weeks we've been away. (Alongside his joy for his mother, he loves the idea that we might end up _literally_ being brothers.)

He asks her to cover for him with the pack, knowing she understands why Jacob can't know that we're home, but that means he can't avoid promising to get himself to school tomorrow. He's exasperated by her insistence—because he's never ditched school in his life—but after hanging up, he worries that she picked up on the fact that something out of the ordinary is going on.

I distract him by joking about the pungent smell of the cooking pizza. He insists they smell great, so I can't help feeling pleased when Bella says the smell is somewhat unpleasant to her nose, too. She doesn't fancy the smell of the cheesecake, either, labelling it "sickly". I can't help lamenting the missed opportunity, but Seth is appreciative enough to go some way to making up for it, and Bella's enjoyment of her own bloody meal is its own reward.

In between indulging Seth's desire for empanadas, Esme, Seth, Bella, and I spend the rest of the day knitting. It is both hilarious and fascinating watching Bella and Esme teach Seth how to knit.

To keep Bella warm through the night, Seth sleeps on the other side of the bed. He sleeps through all of her sleep-talking and regular toilet breaks, and his dreams are reassuringly ordinary.

The other thoughts in my head are equally reassuring. Carlisle is focused solely on planning the birth, trying to anticipate all possible scenarios without dwelling on the myriad unknown variables; Esme is thinking about the nursery that our renovated cottage now needs; Emmett is eagerly awaiting pitting his strength against a newborn (I have to curb his ideas regularly, reminding him that, no matter how willing and enthusiastic Bella might be, I couldn't stand by while he attacked her); and Rosalie's thoughts are filled with cuddling a happy little boy, singing to him, and rocking him in her arms while he sleeps.

In the morning, we're all relieved that Bella's stomach has grown at a lesser rate than previous days. But when the baby starts kicking and we can feel it, we realise that its growth has continued to increase exponentially. We each take turns feeling the surprisingly powerful kicks—it is almost as exciting as hearing the heartbeat, though tempered by our sympathy for Bella's discomfort—and between the five of us vampires, we're able to calculate a reasonable estimate of foot size: two inches. Carlisle checks a couple of sources and determines that the baby is the equivalent of 25-29 weeks old. At an exponential growth rate, it must only be _days_ away from full term.

Given that we have no idea what might transpire or what the baby's first impulse will be, we all agree to pre-empt the birth. Bella suggests that we wait a day before setting the date—using the baby's actual growth rate to estimate when its developmental stage is as close to full term as possible—but Carlisle and I convince her to be a little more flexible. After all, we can 'measure' the foot every time the baby kicks, so it won't take long to build up a clear understanding of its growth rate.

Having the beginnings of a good plan makes us all a lot happier about what will otherwise be a nerve-racking time. Bella's improved spirits manifest in the decision to try out another of our family's maternity-wear creations, so Seth vacates the room, saying he'll find himself something to eat.

"Ask Edward to make you pancakes," she suggests.

He immediately pictures an enormous stack of pancakes smothered in bacon, banana, maple syrup—and then whipped cream.

I can't help but make a face. "Bacon _and_ whipped cream?" I ask, knowing he'll still be able to hear me. "That _can't_ taste good."

Bella laughs, but I don't know whether she's amused by my expression or agrees that the combination is crazy.

"One or the other," Seth calls back, amused that _I_ am questioning _his_ tastes.

"We have bacon," I reply, based on Esme's confirmation that we have both, because bacon is his first choice.

As soon as Bella has changed, we go downstairs to join Seth in the kitchen. Esme and Rosalie follow after (and Emmett follows Rosalie), but this time, it's more about staying with Bella than it is about watching me cook. To make it more interesting for everyone, I move as quickly as I dare, preparing the various elements and making up the pancake batter in half a minute.

Seth eats the pancakes as I make them, dousing them and then the bacon and fried banana in rivers of maple syrup. I understand that it is basically liquid sugar, but it still seems incompatible. Emmett remembers the taste of bacon (and maple syrup) fondly, and I wonder if I ever ate it—though I am in no doubt that I never tried maple syrup.

Amused by the spectacle, or perhaps out of sensitivity to Seth's appetite (as if anything would put him off), Bella waits until Seth has finished before saying she's ready for her own breakfast. While she slurps down her fourth cup of blood, Carlisle joins us to discuss options for pain relief during the birth and following. He has a stockpile of both morphine and a range of anaesthetics, but he doesn't know how effective either sort will be for the change, nor which one would be best in these unique circumstances, given that the "birthing procedure" will likely involve the most radical form of Caesarean section ever undertaken.

Bella insists that the baby's welfare is the only thing that matters. "I can withstand the three days of pain, just as you all did," she declares, missing the point that, if there's a chance we can protect her from that agony, we'll take it.

Carlisle tries to explain for a minute, before hitting on the perfect argument—that she'll need something to ease the pain of us cutting into her stomach, otherwise neither of us will be able to do it. She concedes reluctantly, though, so he goes upstairs to find some example cases to help ease her concerns about using a regional anaesthetic.

Perhaps to combat the freshly sombre mood, Bella waggles the empty cup of blood. "Maybe blood banks _are_ a viable source."

The idea makes me smile. "So say your _human_ taste buds."

"Temperature is really that important?" she asks, intrigued.

I regret the thoughtless remark. How can I explain it? "Oxygenated blood is best, and the warmth helps ease the burn," I say, though that doesn't convey the full feeling of it. (Esme agrees with me, but Rosalie thinks I'm giving Bella a false sense of how feasible it is to _ever_ ease the burn.)

Seth wonders how I know that (because he knows our usual prey—deer—has a similar body temperature to humans). "You've tried cold blood?" he asks.

"No, but I've had hot coffee."

He laughs at that, while Bella looks thoughtful. Then she asks, "Why not drink coffee instead of water?"

"Because coffee usually makes the cravings worse."

"Oh," she murmurs, while Seth wonders if that effect is exclusive to coffee.

"Anything with a strong flavour will do it—mulled wine is the worst, though."

Esme and I both wince faintly as we recall the random dinner party at which I'd almost flipped out and killed the host after taking the merest sip of mulled wine. She remembers the way I'd dropped to the ground and hunched in on myself, as well as her own panic at seeing me struggle against the bloodlust without understanding its abrupt onset. _I couldn't have done that, Wadie_ , she thinks, picturing all the lives I saved by discovering the macabre quirk of that drink before she'd tasted her own wine.

"What's so bad about it?" Seth asks innocently.

"There's a definite tang of blood in the taste," I reply, keeping it simple. "To _our_ taste buds at least."

"Yuck," Seth mutters. _Remind me never to try it_.

"Does it _smell_ at all like blood?" Bella asks.

I shake my head. "The spices are more fragrant than whatever creates the effect in the wine. Fortunately, only blood smells like blood."

They both nod in agreement; Seth thinks it makes sense that our sense of smell is many hundreds of times sharper than our sense of taste. When we only have one food, why would we need to be any more discerning? Especially when he knows that olfaction plays a key role in taste.

"I still like eggnog," Esme says, for Seth's benefit (because she hopes that Bella remembers what she told her last Christmas). "The smell stirs up happy memories, and I can taste just enough of the flavour to remember what it really tastes like."

"You make _great_ eggnog," Bella tells her, smiling. "The best I've ever had."

And then, as Esme thanks Bella, another thought—an unbounded sense of wonder—suddenly flickers through my head. Bizarrely, it sounds like it came from _Bella_ , but when I focus on it, I realise my mistake.

It _did_ come from Bella, but it isn't Bella's mind—it's the baby's! For several seconds, all I can do is marvel at the brand-new feelings blossoming in my head. When Bella replies to Esme, the joy and love it feels drowns out everything else. Our baby is _happy_.

I have never heard the thoughts of an unborn child before, so I have nothing to compare it to; subconscious thoughts aren't like this, and even newborn babies can see and recall images and sounds from their world. This mind has never seen anything. Its world is utterly dark, and touch is the most important sense—although hearing is quickly gaining equal importance. I get the impression that it has been able to hear for a while, but its ability to interpret and respond to sounds is only now developing.

"Bella," I murmur, and the baby reacts to my voice, too (it may be responding to Bella's instinctive delight in my voice, but it still thrills me).

"What is it?" she breathes, picking up on my amazement.

"I can hear the baby's thoughts."

Everyone stops; Carlisle immediately rejoins us, still holding the book that was in his hand. They all wait with bated breath, trying to imagine what the thoughts are like.

Bella gasps. "You said you couldn't hear unborn babies!"

"He must be special," I murmur, going with Bella's preferred gender.

"He _is_ special!" she exclaims joyously, rubbing her belly. "I love you, baby," she croons.

I touch my hands to her stomach, on either side of hers. "He's happy."

She laughs. "Of course he is!"

"He loves you."

She stares into my eyes and the love I see in them matches the love I'm feeling from the baby. For the longest moment, I feel nothing but pure happiness, a proud father sharing this joyous moment with my jubilant wife.

Esme holds out as long as she can before interrupting. "You can tell it's a boy?" she asks excitedly.

I shake my head, sorry for giving her false hope. "I went with _he_ because Bella wants a boy."

"I never said that," Bella murmurs.

"Not when you were conscious," I reply, smiling to reassure her.

Her cheeks flush, but she smiles, too. "I don't know either," she says shyly. "I was just guessing…"

"Boy or girl," I say, "it doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't matter at all," she agrees. "Boy or girl, our baby will be perfect."

For once, everyone in our family is in agreement. Even Carlisle is excited—the fact that I can hear the baby's thoughts means that it can't be _too_ different from us.

"Have you thought about names?" Seth asks, reminding me of a duty I've not given a moment's thought.

I look to Bella, who smiles self-consciously. "I've got a few in mind," she admits, flushing. After a little encouragement, she murmurs, "Caled for a boy, and Renesmee for a girl—or maybe Carlie." She glances at Esme and Carlisle. "I was playing around with the grandparents' names…"

"They're all beautiful," Esme gushes.

"Ruh- _nez_ -may," Rosalie repeats, testing out the one she prefers. "I like it. It's one of a kind, so _that_ fits." She doesn't care whether the baby is a boy or girl either, but she starts trying out various Renée/Esme mixes that would suit a boy. (Naturally, she likes the idea of an _R_ -name.)

Bella beams at her, enjoying the praise. "It's my favourite, too."

Seth thinks it's a bit cumbersome—his preference would be Carlie—so he says nothing. It's a little more obvious when _I_ say nothing, though, so I take a moment to consider each one. The problem is, I'm not sure how I feel about any of them because I'm still so focused on the baby's thoughts.

"I like all three," I say, taking the easy way out (but I'm exonerated when Bella smiles happily).

Carlisle nods along with me; he prefers Caled or Carlie, but figures that's his own bias. Emmett has no opinion either way (he'll be fine with whatever name we pick—even _Rainbow_ ), although he can't resist teasing me about a few possible "alternatives", such as Primo or Una (to mark the one time Bella and I engaged in "genuine" coitus), Islay or Isla (to honour the location of conception, which was the "only" exotic thing about it), and Wren or Avis (to pay tribute to the "meek little birdie" that is its father).

It is easy to ignore him when I have the baby's thoughts to focus on. But they aren't constant. They cut in and out, although I don't know if that's because I'm only able to hear a portion of its thoughts or because it is still experiencing periods of nothingness—either is feasible.

Seth's classes don't start till 9:30 a.m., so he stays until the last possible moment, as riveted as the others by my attempts at describing the baby's sightless world. He hates leaving—especially when _I_ could teach him everything he "needs" to know a thousand times more ably than his school teachers—but he knows it's more than his life's worth to skip school. So I make him a few sandwiches for lunch while Esme fills a bag with books and stationery, which means it's only his homework and textbooks that are missing. He assures her and Bella that that won't be a problem, and I don't contradict him, so Esme agrees to drive him to the nearest spot along the Quileute border, leaving him only a few miles to run on two legs, and to pick him up again after school.

I miss him as soon as his thoughts disappear from my head, but the baby's thoughts are so captivating that the time passes quickly. I do my best to share each new feeling with Bella and the others, but most of the time I listen in silent wonder as the new mind explores itself and the world of sound it lives in.

To launch its musical awakening, I play a series of mini piano recitals showcasing every genre of music. When I've completed the set, I ask Bella if she has any requests before I start replaying and expanding on the pieces our baby enjoyed the most.

"I do have one," she murmurs, "but not about the music."

"What is it?" I ask as calmly as I can when my insides are suddenly squirming with suppressed worries. (Have I let her get too cold? Is she tired? Does she have something else in mind for educating our child?)

"What would you like to name our baby?"

The question takes me by surprise—but it's a good surprise. "I like the ones you've thought of."

"Even Renesmee?"

I nod. "Actually, I've thought of a nice nickname to go with it…"

"Oh?"

"Rey—spelt _r-e-y_."

"Rey," she repeats, trying it out. Then she smiles. "I like it."

The rest of our family likes it, too—so now we just have to wait and see which name suits the baby.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eighteen: Scout**

After confirming that baby Caled or baby Renesmee already has an ear for good music, I'm pleased that he or she also has an ear for good people. The baby is thrilled when Esme arrives home with Seth, recognising his voice as one that hasn't been around for a while. His strident denunciation of school goes down a treat with the innocent listener, who doesn't comprehend that he's bemoaning its dullness because his tone is so animated and cheerful.

For the baby's sake, when he goes to ask how much better our day was, I encourage him to keep telling us about _his_ day.

" _Really?_ " _You're not bored to death yet?_

"The baby loves it."

Everyone laughs at that, and then Seth starts on a story about his English class. "I thought it had potential when we started talking about _archetypal characters_ , but they weren't interested when I suggested tracing horror themes from indigenous cultures into pop culture." _They say I'm obsessed with vampires, and then mock me for making the vaguest reference to them_.

I quirk an eyebrow; he knows I don't like it when he plays up to the tribe's suspicions about us.

 _They say it anyway_ , he reminds me. _If I got too defensive, it would be_ more _suspicious_.

He has a point, so I wave him on with his story. He makes it partway through before remembering the idea he'd had—that the Ticuna legends might include damage done by vampires. He presumes (correctly) that we've already considered it and wants to understand why we're still so concerned. "Would a vampire ever try to change a baby?"

I nod. "Babies are least likely to survive the transformation, but newborn newborns have caused chaos more than once throughout history. The Ticuna legends are so accurate regarding the pregnancy that blaming vampires for the reported carnage doesn't make sense."

Bella sees that Seth isn't convinced, so she jumps in with her counterargument. "Newborn vampires could still be responsible for the worst stories."

Not wanting to argue, I simply smile. "We won't know until we meet _our_ little blood drinker."

" _I_ already know," she mutters, pouting.

Seth rubs her arm. "Me, too, Bells," he agrees. "When you have all the extra space in your head, promise me you won't fill it up with worrying."

She laughs, and then sighs. "I didn't think about it like that," she murmurs, stroking my jersey-clad arm. "It must be so easy to worry when you can literally imagine every single thing that could possibly go wrong."

"Only if you think there are more _bad_ possibilities than _good_ ones," Seth counters, making us all smile with his elegant wisdom.

I fight the urge to say something sappy—like, _there are always more good possibilities when you're around_ —and settle for teasing him about all the ways he finds to count one good possibility as many.

He laughs and lifts his hand from Bella's arm to lightly slap my chest. "Mock my legendary powers of optimism all you like, I'm still awesome."

While the two of us joke about the definition of optimism, Bella rubs her tummy thoughtfully. It doesn't look as though she's in pain, so I don't try to pull her out of her thoughts. Even the baby's enchanting thoughts can't make up for missing out on Bella's, and I find myself wondering if I'll _ever_ get to see her mind. But then a new possibility springs to mind: could the transformation help me build a connection from her mind to mine? I try not to get my hopes up, but the idea is intriguing.

Bella doesn't offer up the subject of her thoughts, so we soon turn to the matter of Seth's homework, which he agrees to do after I bribe him with cinnamon rolls, and then we indulge the pregnant woman by joining her in a repeat viewing of the BBC's _Pride and Prejudice_ mini-series. Seth, Rosalie, and Emmett are the lucky ones watching it for the first time, but their enjoyment of the simple yet undeniably sweet plot and the baby's unique thoughts give me ample distraction from the tedium of sitting through all 390 minutes for the third time.

Seth is amused by the pointlessly formal, tedious lifestyle of the upper class—according to this story (the reality of which Carlisle can broadly attest to), they have all of the ease and luxury and little of the fun; Rosalie finds the "romantic nonsense" far less irritating than when she read the book decades ago as an ill-humoured immortal; Emmett imagines charging through grassy fields on horseback with Rosalie lounging in his lap; and the baby recognises aspects from the emotive music I played earlier, actually understanding that the new sounds and voices are a form of entertainment like the piano music, separate to our family.

Over the course of the night, the baby's thoughts become steadily clearer and louder, pervading my mind with its inquisitiveness and its pleasant contemplations of the world it knows and the world it hears. Once born, I have no doubt that its thoughts will be even stronger than Renée's—but that comparison dampens my high spirits. Bella can never see Renée again, and grandchild and grandmother will never get to meet. (One thought punctuates the sadness: I'm glad we didn't know that our wedding would be the last time we saw her.)

It is well after midnight when the final credits roll, but Seth isn't remotely tired and Bella avoids admitting she's too uncomfortable to try sleeping yet by asking Seth if he sees the resemblance between Mr Darcy and me.

Gratifyingly, he doesn't; Rosalie, however, is another matter. Unlike Seth, she knew me before Bella made me a better man, and she thinks it's hilarious that Bella is cognisant of the "insufferably proud, disdainful creature" I used to be. She dares to share a few of the "worst" examples of my bad behaviour and the animosity between us, goading me into sharing a few stories about _her_ unladylike conduct. Carlisle and Esme are aggrieved to hear just how dysfunctional our relationship had always been, but Bella and Emmett, who both knew full well how little we had tolerated each other, enjoy our playful narratives enough to ease Carlisle and Esme's shared dismay.

Bella resists going to bed, so she eventually falls asleep on the couch. There's no guarantee how long she'll stay asleep, so Seth lays his head back and promptly joins her in slumber. Rosalie watches them with a mix of shared contentment and profound envy; she still can't help coveting their humanity. Except the accompanying mortality is no longer an appealing part of the package, and it raises the troubling question of the baby's potential lifespan. When I meet Rosalie's gaze, she sees her fear reflected in my eyes: nothing short of immortal will be enough.

"What is it?" Emmett asks sharply, instantly alert.

Rosalie gives him a rueful smile. "I was thinking about the baby's lifespan…"

He relaxes at once, wholly unconcerned by the matter, but Carlisle cringes and I see that he and Esme have already discussed it.

Esme strokes a hand through his hair, then says to Rosalie and me what she said to him. "Don't worry about things you can't control."

Emmett doesn't even understand our worry. "Bella's already drinking blood," he points out, "so the kid's gonna be more like _us_."

Esme nods, but Rosalie, Carlisle, and I think it is too much to hope for that we'll get a child with all of our 'good' traits and none of the bad ones. She sees our doubt and smiles. "Life is incredible," she points out, implying that it isn't such a stretch to imagine the hybrid being a perfect union of human and vampire (whatever _that_ means). "Besides, I don't think you realise just how _lucky_ Bella is."

It's the first time I've heard her express it in that way, and I'm intrigued. From a certain perspective, there's no denying that Bella _has_ had a charmed existence; she might not have had it _easy_ , but whenever her life was imperilled, the most unlikely heroes always stepped in to save her.

"She _is_ lucky," Rosalie agrees, feeling equally cheered as she lists the insurmountable odds our most unlikely family member has already overcome.

By the time Emmett speaks up to add my abiding virginity to the list, Carlisle, Rosalie, and I feel a lot more optimistic.

To keep our spirits up, Esme changes the subject entirely, starting us off with a teasing story of Darcy and Elizabeth's projected future fortunes. Emmett jumps in to wager that Darcy's sister will do the complete opposite of her brother and fall in love with a prince, and then we all join in to concoct a comical tale of the triumphs and tribulations of life in nineteenth-century England.

Carlisle is describing a medical curio of the late nineteenth century when Bella gasps awake after only 52 minutes. It's clear that she's in pain. She hunches forwards, but that only presses the womb against her ribs. Seth hears her soft cry and stirs. Realising she's struggling, he wraps an arm around her and helps her to sit up. After a moment, she holds an arm out for me, so I take her weight as she stands, cupping her stomach. I can feel both feet kicking above my hand, but they quickly gravitate down towards my touch so I move my hand to her waist.

"He was kicking anyway," Bella murmurs. "How big?"

I place my hand back on her stomach, letting the little feet patter against my palm. "Two and one-fifth inches."

"Twenty-eight to thirty weeks," Carlisle translates.

"What's your estimate now?" Bella asks breathlessly.

"Full term before dawn on the ninth," he replies, adding a tighter bound to our previous estimate of sometime on the ninth, three days from now.

"The eighth, then," she says firmly, sticking to her timeframe.

" _Early_ eighth," I amend.

"We don't need to get that far ahead."

"Let's see how the baby feels," I suggest, knowing she'll appreciate that more than any reminder of her own needs.

When she nods, Rosalie offers to get her another cup of blood. Then, while she runs to the fridge, Carlisle raises the issue of our dwindling stock: at the rate Bella is drinking it, we'll run out tomorrow afternoon. He can easily purchase more, but he'd prefer to use the blood bank in Olympia this time, which means he'd be gone for several hours. Esme jumps at the chance to propose a supply run; while Carlisle collects more blood, she wants to look for a few specific items for the nursery (formerly the spare room). To protect the secret of our little cottage, she voices a desire to donate the expiring food and restock the kitchen for Seth (and potentially for the baby, too).

Rosalie isn't thrilled, but Bella bestows her wholehearted approval (probably because no one will want to start the birth without Carlisle). After I agree and Seth assures Esme that he's happy to run all the way to school—he can run just fine on two legs—Carlisle calls the blood bank. Esme packs up a few foods with impending expiry dates, and then she and Carlisle stay until Bella has finished her blood drink and is tucked up in bed, stacked up with pillows.

This time, Bella sleeps for almost two and a half hours, and she seems well rested when she wakes. She pulls me onto the bed and we kiss until she is properly awake; then I gently lift her out of bed and carry her to the bathroom. The sky is just starting to brighten, but she laments that it's too overcast for her eyes to see any stars or watch the sunrise.

Rosalie meets us in the bathroom with half a dozen clothing options. Bella picks another dress-and-leggings combo; then, when she is propped up on pillows in the lounge, slurping her cup of blood, Rosalie shows us the burnt-orange, knee-length 'dress' that Alice wants Bella to wear after her change. It is backless, with fishing-line-thin, criss-cross straps and a bodice shaped like two petals attached to the front of the bell-shaped skirt.

Bella laughs at the revealing cut and then asks if Alice had had a vision of her in it. Regretfully, I admit that she hadn't; Bella eyes my face for a moment, and then strokes the stiff but silky fabric, running her fingers around the skirt's frilled edge. "Put it on me while I'm changing," she suddenly declares. "And if it doesn't suit me, Alice isn't allowed a say in what either of us wears for the next decade."

"It'll look good on you," I assert, drastically understating the matter lest my enthusiasm deter her.

Seth and Rosalie agree with me but are sensitive to Bella's shyness, so they just smile; Emmett, on the other hand, can't resist making a joke. "Did you know that deer can't see orange?" he says, implying that Alice chose an orange dress because Bella will need all the help she can get.

"I did," Seth pipes up. "That's why tigers are orange."

"And why you're _straw-coloured_."

Seth chuckles. "I'm _blond_ ," he corrects, daring Emmett to disparage his colouring now.

My focus shifts outside when Jacob's and Sam's minds suddenly intrude on mine—warning me that Jacob is on his way here. Seth's ongoing absence has set off alarm bells for my dejected, former rival. Although he isn't expecting Bella to be here, he's determined to get the truth about her 'status' from Carlisle.

Sam has been trying to reason with him since dawn, but Jacob is convinced that knowing Bella is now a vampire will help him deal with it. His mind baulks at picturing her with blood-red eyes, but his instinct is still to love her, not attack her.

His burning desire to attack _me_ , however, makes me wish that Sam would interfere. He could forbid Jacob to come here, or even just forbid him from fighting; that would make me feel a little less anxious.

"Jacob is on his way here," I say, managing to speak calmly; ironically, only my child senses that something is off in my voice (probably because the others share my alarm).

Bella's automatic reaction catches me off guard; she should be concerned, as everyone else is, but she actually _smiles_ and her pulse races a little in anticipation. My own temper spikes—I hate that she is happy to see him, even now, but the fact that her excitement has got our baby excited makes it especially brutal. ( _Big sister_ , I tell myself firmly, with limited success.)

"We have to leave!" Rosalie exclaims, dashing to Bella's side and gently wrapping her hand around Bella's arm—although what she really wants to do is pick her up and run to the Mercedes.

"No," Bella replies, resting a hand atop Rosalie's in a clear signal that she's not moving. "Let him come. It'll be okay."

"He _can't_ find out about the baby," Rosalie insists.

Bella makes a face. "He's going to notice."

"If you don't get up," Emmett suggests, "we could hide it beneath more blankets."

Seth and I both doubt that staying still will be enough; he is equally well aware of just how closely Jacob has studied Bella's form. "We could say you're asleep," he proposes. "Let him see you in bed…"

"You don't think I should tell him," Bella concludes sombrely.

Seth gives her a rueful smile. "I think you should wait till there's something _to_ tell him."

"But there _is_ something to tell him," she disagrees.

Her willingness to trust Jacob, against even Seth's advice, vexes me deeply. "You can't trust his temper," I tell her, speaking slowly in an effort to avoid exposing my own temper. "The last time he saw you, he almost lost control with his hands gripped around your shoulders."

"But he _didn't_ , and when he sees I'm still human, he'll listen to me. I know he will."

I shake my head; Seth says what we're all thinking. "But what if he doesn't?"

She sighs. "The bed thing wouldn't work anyway—he'll just try to wake me up."

"Then I'll throw him out the window," I retort.

"Edward, no."

With Jacob's galling thoughts streaming through my head, I feel like screaming at her. _How can she trust him?_ But I cling to the rational being that I am for the sake of my beloved wife and our unborn child. "Say he _is_ , miraculously, able to deal with you being pregnant by me… What then? No one will believe that he's staying here by choice. We'll have an hour at most before _Sam_ is our next caller."

Seth grimaces. _He knows Jake's coming here?_ When I nod, he exhales sharply. "If Sam sees the baby as a threat—" He breaks off, unable to voice his dire predictions.

"Is it _really_ that bad?" Bella asks softly.

Seth and I nod in unison, although we're no longer in complete agreement. He is starting to think we have no choice but to tell Jacob the truth and hope he can handle it. After all, Sam might believe that Jacob has stayed to talk to him and Carlisle…

"He's almost here," I say heavily, because he's less than a minute away.

"I'll get some more blankets," Rosalie says, taking Bella's empty cup with her.

While she and Emmett swaddle Bella, I run upstairs to get a pair of track pants and a t-shirt big enough to cover Jacob's muscular physique. Seth takes the clothes and then goes to the door, opening it a few seconds before the russet wolf sprints into view.

Jacob clatters up the steps, not phasing till he's on the porch. "Where's Bella?" he demands as soon as he can speak.

"Here," Seth acknowledges, tossing him the clothes, "but go easy, bro. It's all good."

Jacob snorts as he hastily pulls on the track pants, his whole body quivering at the concentrated "leech-stench" pervading the air (he doesn't know how Seth can stand it). But the tension he's feeling eases the moment he picks out Bella's heartbeat in between the measured thudding of Seth's heart and his own rapid pulse (which is annoyingly interesting for the baby). He strides through the doorway, shoving Seth aside in his eagerness to see her—and her obvious delight at seeing him makes him feel invincible. Her eyes are the most beautiful he's ever seen; he could gaze into them forever. If he didn't know from his pack-brothers what imprinting feels like, he would think this was it.

Her ongoing humanness is such a relief, he can scarce draw breath to catch his breath after such a long sprint. But then, as the high fades as he reminds himself that the contest is long over and he lost, he looks beyond her eyes and sees that her posture is all wrong; Bella doesn't _slouch_. And he knows her face too well not to notice the dullness of her skin, the dark rings around her eyes, and her lips' unnaturally dark shade of pink.

"Bells!" he breathes, stopping halfway across the room, shocked that, for all his theories, he'd not considered this possibility. _Are there conditions that vampirism can't fix?_ Then he wonders if I've _poisoned_ her. (Oh, how I would dearly love to poison _him_.)

"Jake," she replies jubilantly, ignoring his poorly concealed anxiety. "It's good to see you."

"What's wrong?" he asks, dreading the answer but desperate to know.

"Nothing's wrong. In fact, everything's perfect."

It doesn't take a mind-reader to see that he doesn't believe her. She holds out her hand for him, palm upraised, and he starts towards her again, anticipating (in a completely non-platonic way) touching her, while rubbing it in that she still wants to see him as much as ever. I am hard pressed not to bar the way, but as his attention shifts to the careful way her other hand is cradling the blankets that are bunched around her middle, he comes to a standstill on his own.

Visions of alien-like monstrosities exploding out of her body flash through his mind.

Seth places a hand on his arm a moment before it starts to shake in earnest. "Easy, Jake," he says calmly. "Let Bella explain—"

Jacob shrugs off his hand. " _No_ ," he growls, rejecting this new future that is even worse than his wildest imaginings. The thought of my _mutant spawn_ inside the girl he loves makes him sick to his stomach.

"I promise it's good news," Bella says, stretching out her hand for him.

But he can't focus on her. His eyes are glued to her swollen belly, his mind stuck on this wholly unexpected conquest—she is pregnant by me; I've won _again_. He turns and races back to the front door, phasing as he throws himself into it. He busts it open and leaps over the porch, slamming down hard on the lawn as he and Sam both struggle to make sense of the horror show in his head.

"There's no danger!" I call after him, but neither of them is listening. Sam is every bit as shocked and horrified by Bella's condition as Jacob is.

Seth runs out onto the porch. "Edward can hear the baby's thoughts!" he yells after the disappearing wolf, hoping to catch Sam's attention before joining them in wolf form. It works more than I'd dared to hope. Sam trusts me enough to hear us out.

Seth and I share the telling, laying out the case for patience as plainly as possible: the unborn child is already displaying an ability to reason and learn; it feels love for us; and even if its bloodlust does turn out to be as strong as a newborn vampire's, we know how to deal with that without violating the treaty.

Meanwhile, Jacob is still reeling from his disgust and his personal heartache. He knew Bella and I were _intending_ to have sex, but he'd not let himself think about us actually _succeeding_. Ironically, his extreme jealousy helps Sam to set aside his inborn prejudice and think through his revulsion and fear without giving in to either one.

As instinctively appalling as the idea of a human-vampire hybrid is to him, Sam recognises that the dilemma hinges on one key point: will the creature jeopardise the treaty? Even if it _is_ a blood drinker, it could drink non-human blood the way we do. Somehow, Seth keeps his thoughts off Bella's newfound taste for human blood—perhaps because Jacob's rage is sufficiently distracting.

 _They didn't know it was even possible_ , Seth goes on, responding more to Jacob's thoughts than Sam's, _and it's_ one _baby—it's not like they're breeding an army_.

When Sam actually finds the joke amusing, I dare to hope that we'll get through this. _You'll be able to manage_ two _newborns?_ , he asks.

"There are enough of us to manage Bella's thirst and the baby's," I assure him, knowing I cannot show an ounce of uncertainty on this point. "Any one of us ought to be strong enough to restrain the baby, and Emmett together with two or three of the rest of us will be strong enough to contain Bella if she needs additional help."

The reminder of just how strong newborn Bella will be unsettles him a little—but Seth helps him to remember his confidence on that score, and then his mind is made up.

 _I must consult with the rest of the council_ , he tells us, _but you have my support_.

While Seth and I heave a sigh of relief, Jacob snarls out his opposition, swearing and cursing at all three of us, and the tribal council, too, in anticipation of their "traitorous" judgement. He expects Sue and even his own father will side with me, too, "against their own people". But when Seth challenges his prejudiced vision of the baby, his true mindset is exposed: he believes that I've perverted Bella, using her to create an abomination. He would be willing to lay down his life to protect Bella, but he will be first in line to kill the mutant creature.

Sam is sympathetic to Jacob's distress, but he can't ignore the boy's violent thoughts. _I forbid you from fighting any of the Cullens_ , he orders, reluctantly issuing an edict to counter Jacob's strengthening resolve.

Jacob skids to a halt, feeling an almost physical blow as the alpha's command rings through his mind. Every fibre of his being strains against the subjugation of his will, and he howls out in a wordless, ferocious denunciation of an order protecting the reviled creature, only able to focus on one "truth"—Sam has overstepped his authority. When Jacob pushes back, it takes less than a second to break it. Despite previously eschewing the role, Jacob is still the pack's rightful alpha.

 _Ephraim Black's son was not born to follow Levi Uley's_ , he sneers, deliberately using the timbre of the alpha as he assumes his birthright.

Sam flinches and then bristles, affronted by Jacob's mockery. If the two wolves weren't miles apart, I've no doubt Sam would be compelled to challenge him for leadership of the pack, and Jacob is angry enough to turn it into a real battle.

Seth is shocked that his brothers are turning on each other; Sam has always been the one settling conflicts, not escalating them, and he can't imagine _Jacob_ as his alpha.

 _I don't want to lead the pack_ , Jacob insists. I _won't take anyone's will away. But I won't follow Sam any longer. I'm Alpha of a pack of one_.

The pronouncement is sad for all three of them—there's no such thing as a pack of one—but Jacob is still too angry to feel more than a fleeting sense of hollowness.

 _Come back, Jake!_ , Seth entreats. _Have a cinnamon roll—they make everything okay_.

Jacob snorts at Seth's "pathetic" attempt at humour. He doesn't _ever_ intend to come back, though his current resolve doesn't comfort Sam, who is deeply hurt by Jacob's mutiny. He genuinely cares for and loves each and every one of his pack-brothers (and the girl he still can't think of as a sister)—being Alpha is his sacred duty, not about having the power to literally command his family, and especially not against their wills—so he blames himself for this rift and its devastating fallout.

Except Jacob can't hear that sentiment anymore because the wolves' telepathy is changing. I can still hear Seth's mind through Sam, but only Sam's mind through Jacob's, and the link between their two minds has narrowed to almost nothing. Jacob truly has forged himself a new pack.

The shared telepathy of the two alphas quickly solidifies until the only thoughts they can hear of each other's are their purposeful statements. This change strikes Seth with the greatest impact, as the two alphas instinctively understand why it has come about—neither one can trust the other—but they both feel the weight of Jacob's choice. Their allegiance to each other is at an end.

Jacob is, unsurprisingly, elated that his thoughts are no longer tied to the others'—not only can he be alone, but he also won't have to phase in order to shut me out. The exhilaration helps boost his speed as he races to get beyond the reach of my telepathy. He had already decided to run to Canada, but now he focuses even more intently on that plan, remembering his time as a wolf, the peaceful, unfettered existence. I'm not reassured; even if it isn't a ruse to hide is his true intent, he could easily change his mind once he has worked through the initial shock.

Sam asks Seth to stay with us while he assembles the council and the rest of the pack, so I beckon for the "blond" wolf to come back inside with me. Rosalie rolls her eyes, but otherwise doesn't object. The baby is delighted by the wolf's loud heartbeat, not only detecting but understanding and _appreciating_ the sound—equating it with the heartbeats of Bella and Seth (and Jacob) that it already knows.

Explaining Jacob's defection is a gruelling task. Although I keep my biggest worries to myself, Bella is still deeply distressed. While I'm describing the change in the wolves' telepathy, she drops her head into her hands.

"It's not your fault," I insist, but she just shakes her head. There are already tears spilling down her cheeks, despite the effort she's clearly making to stay calm for the baby's sake. _Oh, how I_ hate _Jacob Black_.

"You and Seth were right," she gasps, as her tears turn into little sobs.

"But Jacob was wrong," I reply, resting my hands atop hers.

She gives a shuddery sigh. " _I_ was wrong. He was just in shock—and now he's all alone."

"He _wants_ to be alone," I point out, voicing Seth's thoughts.

She glances at me, then looks at Seth, who nods emphatically and then flops down onto his haunches. He stretches out his neck and tilts his head, offering a furry hug if she wants one. Bella responds immediately, wrapping an arm around his neck and pressing her cheek against his warm fur.

While Seth comforts Bella (and captivates the baby), I retrieve my cell phone from the table and call Carlisle. He has already obtained the blood, so Esme aborts her shopping expedition. They would abandon the car, too, but I don't think the situation is that dire. Carlisle _hmmms_ softly when Esme promises to be home in an hour (which would involve exceeding the highway speed limit by almost 100 miles an hour), so I express a little more confidence than I feel and suggest keeping a little closer to the speed limit.

Jacob is still running north as fast as he can. Thanks to his focus on the wolf life, his mind is considerably calmer—but he knows as well as I do that it's an illusion. The fury is still there, and just as sharp, whenever his thoughts stray to Bella. The detail of his thoughts starts to waver in my mind when he is almost five miles away; I wish I'd paid as much attention to his wolf mind as I have his human mind. Unlike Seth's wolf and human minds, which feel distinctive but not distinct, and are equally familiar to me, Jacob's wolf mind is vastly different to his human mind—probably because his human mind is so affected by his feelings for Bella. Half a mile more, the only insight I have is seeing what he's seeing, and that quickly fades. At less than five and a half miles, despite my best efforts, I can't sense his mind at all. The reality of his new alpha status is chilling. Does he realise just how much of an advantage he has gained?

And then Sam phases back into wolf form and Jacob's thoughts are suddenly crystal clear again. My telepathy has somehow automatically recalibrated to exploit the remaining connection between his and Sam's minds. The relief is intense—but short lived, as Sam only remains a wolf for a few minutes before taking his human form in order to address the council.

The rest of the pack—or, more accurately, the rest of _Sam's_ pack—remains in wolf form. Embry, Quil, and Leah share Jacob's aversion to the hybrid child, but Jared and Paul are unexpectedly relaxed about it. Jared even offers me congratulations. Emily, Kim, and the council are visibly shocked by the news, but they all agree with Sam that, in this exceptional, unforeseeable situation, the treaty is still our guiding tenet—and the child's existence does not violate the treaty. I'm not the only one startled when Quil Snr concurs without the slightest protest (I wish I could hear his thoughts!); he even nods along with the others when Sam explains that, although Bella is as comfortable as can be expected in such a rushed pregnancy, we're planning to change her as soon as the baby is out.

The council's decision nearly unites the pack's feelings on the matter; Quil Jnr is content to defer to the others' judgement and Leah decides that the child is no more unnatural than we are—technically, we're "mutant" humans ourselves—but Embry insists that the creature is dangerous. Losing the link with Jacob is devastating to him, and when he thinks about calling out to his best friend—even joining him—he feels a distinct 'pull' towards a force that's just out of reach. Jared is quick to remind him of his duties to his other brothers and the tribe, while Quil lets Embry know that he shares his anguish. They're both unhappy about leaving Jacob on his own, but Embry switching his allegiance for the sake of their dispossessed friend is a choice neither boy is remotely keen on.

Despite the risk of Jacob learning that his thoughts aren't as safe as he thinks they are, I share my partially enduring insight into the boy's mind. The pack is surprised but relieved—none more than Sam when he learns of my ongoing access to his rival's mind, after phasing to talk strategy with his pack. When he asks for an update, though, I have to admit that I can't hear Jacob right now; he must have switched to human form.

Sam is immediately apprehensive. Although no one believes that Jacob is a threat to Seth, Sam doesn't want to leave him here without backup from the pack. He intends to join us himself, but I suggest that he send Jared instead. "You should stay in La Push and let Jacob cool off."

Sam understands what I'm thinking, but he's torn. Part of him agrees, but part of him _wants_ to fight Jacob and resolve the challenge to his leadership.

 _I'll go_ , Leah says.

 _You'll help protect the Cullens?_ , Seth challenges.

 _I'll help protect_ you _, little pain_ , she retorts, but underneath the teasing, she backs his belief that we Cullens are committed enough to not being murderers that we won't let our baby be a killer either.

Seth is thrilled by his sister's support. He yips happily to encourage their cautious alpha to agree—except he can't help wondering how comfortable Leah will feel about coming inside, which makes Sam baulk at the idea.

 _If Seth can stand the stench, I can, too_ , Leah retorts, irritated by Sam's conspicuously protective feelings for her. _I'm not afraid of a bunch of peace-loving leeches_.

He agrees reluctantly (because she's turned it into a matter of courage). _Let Jared accompany you_.

Leah tosses her head. _Jacob's not a threat—I can run circles around the lot of you_.

 _Please, Lee—ah,_ Sam pleads, only just managing to avoid using his old pet name for her (Lee-lee).

But the damage is done. Leah growls softly, warning him that he crossed the line, and then races into the trees.

"Sam," I say to catch his attention, "if you stay in wolf form while Leah's on her way, I'll hear Jacob as soon as he phases back. And I can hear his human mind at a distance of five miles—he can't sneak up on us."

He appreciates the reminder, but he's still anxious about Leah being alone, so Jared offers to run the perimeter, just in case Jacob has headed back to La Push. Sam agrees, and then Paul jumps in to suggest that he phase back to update Rachel and the others. When Embry wants to phase, too, Sam feels like he's losing control of the situation—his pack is too spread out, and, in human form, Embry would be free to consider defecting to Jacob's pack.

The whole pack feels their alpha's tension, so they do their best to ease his anxiety; Quil tries to joke by promising to "keep Embry in line", and they all assure him that he is their recognised alpha. (Embry can't truthfully deny that joining Jacob's pack is tempting, but the idea of Jacob being his alpha doesn't thrill him, and thanks to Leah, he is already feeling much less anxious about the "baby leech".) Their dedication to him helps Sam a little, but this is utterly uncharted territory; he doesn't want to lose Jacob either, but how can two Alphas learn to coexist? Right now, he can't imagine ever shaking off the profound sense of rivalry he feels, even if Jacob were to return to the area in his human form exclusively.

 _Maybe he'll imprint_ , Seth suggests hopefully, imagining Jacob turning into a second Paul.

That image can't fail to amuse—even Sam finds the humour in it—and the philosophical questions bound up in the notion of imprinting provide a handy diversion as we watch Leah and Jared run through the trees. Is there a purpose to imprinting? Could it solve Jacob's problems or would it just create new ones? Jared, Paul, and Quil are squarely in the solving-problems camp, while Embry thinks Jacob will simply find another "off-limits" girl to agonise over. Leah tries not to engage in the discussion, but she has thought about it as much as any of them. She is torn between the two sides; she wishes she'd imprint to help her move on (and to prove to herself that she's not broken), but she also fears that she'll imprint on someone she doesn't actually like—that she won't be herself anymore because imprinting takes your will away.

 _No, it doesn't_ , Jared insists. _It takes away the_ distractions. _It shows you who you really are—or, rather, who you're_ supposed _to be_.

The whole pack is heartened by that profound truth, though Embry also mourns Jacob's isolation from this shared wisdom. Sam seconds his sorrow, then apologises for effectively dictating whether or not Embry could phase in this time of turmoil but not imminent threat, because of his own insecurities—he is their leader, but he isn't _above_ them.

Jared teases him for his undeniably possessive feelings about "his" pack, but assures him that they all understand and appreciate his leadership style, particularly his willingness to accept criticism and his ongoing desire to grow as a man and as a leader. The affirmation is exactly what Sam needs right now.

Thinking together, the pack agrees on a plan. Sam and Jared will remain in wolf form at least until the baby is born; Leah and Seth will stay here with us; and the others will share their usual, only slightly intensified, watch duties, while ensuring that, when human, they're never out of earshot of Sam's or Jared's howl. Seth cheerfully "sacrifices" his schooling for the rest of the week, asking Paul to tell his mother that he'll do what he must to catch up next week (in case she tries to give him homework). Then Paul, Embry, and Quil phase as Leah arrives at the clearing outside our house.

Breathing in our scent is substantially less painful for her human nose, so she decides to return to human form before coming inside. I take her some fresh clothes and then wait at the door while she dresses. Stepping inside, she feels instinctively vulnerable, then immediately irritated by the "stupid" fear; like her mother, she feels silly for being afraid for her own life when she trusts us not to harm Seth. To distract herself, she reminds me of Seth's promise of my services in making more of my "best thing you'll ever eat in your entire life" cinnamon rolls, trying out a joke about the danger of her high expectations not being met.

When Seth grins at her, his tongue lolling out of his open mouth, she cringes at the thought of 'eating' the reeking air. I give her a moment to manage her physical discomfort, and then introduce her to my siblings. Seth's memories mean that they don't feel like total strangers, but she's still glad that there are only three vampires in the house right now. (She gives me a wry smile when she realises that she no longer thinks of us as "leeches"—even though she still enjoys calling me one.)

To help her feel a little more comfortable, add a sweeter smell to the house, and indulge Seth, I propose to make more cinnamon rolls immediately. Leah is used to me helping out in the kitchen, but she is just as surprised that I've cultivated the skill for myself.

 _You really did think Bella would stay human for a while longer_ , she thinks.

"I _hoped_ ," I murmur.

In the beginning, she understood my wish to preserve Bella's humanity for as long as possible, but now she actually thinks it's weird; why _aren't_ I keen to immortalise her? She is interested enough in my answer to follow me, leaving the others in the lounge.

"My own and my family's experiences led me to believe that the change would cost Bella more than her parents and her human friends," I explain as I gather the ingredients. "But now I think that anything is possible."

Leah agrees. _Undead husband, mutant baby, shapeshifting friends_ , she quips; _there's nothing normal about that girl, and she's never been afraid to own it_. A tinge of envy colours her thoughts as she realises that, compared to Bella, her own "tough girl" attitude is a sham.

" _Everyone_ fails that comparison," I point out, which makes her smile.

The kitchen is slightly less malodourous than the lounge, so she stays with me as I work, contemplating the pack's new reality—wishing _she_ could go off on her own to escape Sam, but also being glad that Jacob was the first to walk out on their pack. I let her process her feelings in silence until the rolls are in the oven, and then, to more fully answer her earlier question, I share some of the conflicted feelings that had led me to believe that leaving Bella was best for her, before changing the subject completely by describing the baby's fascination with Seth's loud heart.

I wait until she and Seth have each devoured a couple of rolls before informing her, and the two wolves whose minds are currently linked to Seth's, that Bella is drinking donated human blood to nourish herself and the baby. Leah is understandably appalled—and annoyed at Seth for keeping that grisly detail to himself—but she manages not to lose sight of what matters, and Sam and Jared are remarkably understanding: the baby's thirst for blood is almost as irrelevant as ours (it helps that they know I've tasted human blood). Even so, when Carlisle and Esme return with the fresh stock of blood, Leah goes back into the kitchen, not wanting to be anywhere near the blood or Bella when she's drinking it.

Bella is too preoccupied with worry to feel self-conscious about the gruesome habit, so I furnish Leah with a range of books and then the rest of us do our best to distract Bella from her anxiety about Jacob. Rosalie and Esme show her the clothes, toys, and games they have bought and made for the baby; Emmett outlines his proposal for a "big game" competition in Africa; Carlisle shares interesting medical anecdotes; and Seth gives me a drawing tutorial so we can make a little comic for Bella's amusement. But, going by the metric of her pulse, the thing that comforts her most is cuddling into Seth's warm fur and listening to my regular updates on the baby's thoughts and feelings.

I'm getting better at describing the baby's intangible sense of reality, but I still can't find a way to articulate its sense of its physical body and the confines of its current abode. Bella is its whole world and the deep connection it feels with her means it doesn't see the distinction between its form and hers, even though it does have a sense of its hands, feet, and face, and can even suck its thumb.

As the day progresses, Bella rallies her spirits, but her discomfort grows. The hard mass inside her is still expanding, robbing her of breath and making every movement painful now that it is pressed against her ribs and squashing her diaphragm. Out of a need to keep up the baby's strength, she drinks so much blood that we half expect her eyes to change colour—but none of us protests because it improves her condition, too.


	19. Chapter 19

**Nineteen: Altruist**

It's a relief that Bella is asleep when Jacob's mind abruptly reappears in mine, at 12:32 a.m. The intervening hours have had little effect on his agitated thoughts and even less effect on his location. He is still in Washington, only a few miles past the point I'd last heard his mind; he spent the day at the top of a tall tree, hunkered down in the canopy, listening to all the life around him and wallowing in his own insignificance. As the sun set, he'd cried for his loss—imagining Bella pregnant with _his_ child—and he's still rebuking himself for torturing himself all over again, over something that had never been real, even as he curses me for filling Bella's head with unnatural desires. The full moon illuminating the dark sky has become a symbol of the pale, cold, immortal Bella who won't need him at all, heightening his hatred of me and his sense of having been betrayed by his pack.

I would've waited to tell Sam, but he feels Jacob's presence almost immediately—like an added weight on his mind—and calls out to him. Jacob doesn't respond, so Seth glances at me to ask if I can hear his thoughts.

I nod. "He's still angry," I whisper.

Sam considers apologising, but the words won't come; he is angry, too. He wants his brother back, but the distance between them already feels unbridgeable.

Jacob starts running north-east, trying not to think—except he wants to know how Bella's doing, and he can't help wondering what the council decided.

 _So you're gonna let all the leeches on the Rez now?_ , he taunts, bitterness making his tone even sharper than he intended.

Sam can't help reacting to his hostility, and they're soon snapping back and forth, getting more and more worked up. When Sam scorns Jacob's childish self-pity, Jacob retaliates by branding Sam's relationship with Emily so unhealthy and hurtful that he can't see how harmful Bella's is.

Sam is deeply hurt by the accusation. The rage momentarily chokes up his throat—and then he howls out his fury, letting fly with a drawn-out, blood-curdling exclamation of territorial aggression. The challenge rings through Jacob's mind (they can obviously communicate directly in _wolf_ , too), rousing his fighting instincts, but he shakes it off. He knows he went too far (a small part of him actually regrets it), so he urges on his legs and lets Sam's curses blend with the wind in his ears.

Jared and Seth try to ease their alpha's distress, and so do the others, awoken by Sam's howl, as they join them in wolf form. Within minutes, Leah is the only one missing. She is asleep in the kitchen, oblivious, and Seth and I briefly debate waking her before deciding that she'd rather not be drawn into this.

Then, not three minutes later, as the full moon crosses the meridian, we're all blindsided by the scared, confused thoughts of two boys I've never met. Collin Littlesea, Jacob's cousin, and Brady Fuller, a distant relation of Seth, Leah, and Quil, had both been asleep in their beds when the tensions between the two alphas—or perhaps, more directly, Sam's forceful call to arms—awoke their genes. Brady thinks he's trapped in some crazy dream, but Collin knew there was something up with Jacob and his friends, so he is the first to accept their impossible new reality.

Alongside my sympathy for the boys' harsh introduction to our supernatural world—both are only 13 years old—I am intrigued that only Sam and Jacob are hearing their thoughts directly. The other wolves are privy to their thoughts through their alpha's mind, as Collin and Brady are to theirs, but the connection is strictly channelled through Sam.

The shock of their change throws Jacob off his rhythm, pulling him out of his own head as Sam's reassurances evoke the memory of his own disorienting induction to the supernatural world—one which Sam had helped ease. He skids to a halt as the memories rush over him. Following Sam's calm voice through the chaos of being both human and wolf… accepting the wiser, nobler, infinitely more compassionate man as his alpha… learning the ways of the wolf… defending Sam to Bella… discovering the bizarre birthright that gave him claim to leadership of not only the pack but also the tribe…

He'd been glad to waive that claim, and still was, despite his rash invocation of the alpha state.

Through Collin's and Brady's minds, Sam is able to follow enough of Jacob's thoughts to hear his remorse. Despite Jacob's closer ties to Collin, he dares to claim both boys for _his_ pack. Jacob is loath to leave his cousin in the care of someone who is a stranger to him, but he defers to Sam's greater experience.

The instant he relinquishes his potential claim, the boys' thoughts cut out. He collapses to the ground, overwhelmed by the suddenly deafening silence.

The unwelcome detachment brings it home to him exactly what he's done in cutting himself off from his brothers. I can't help feeling sympathy for the selfish boy; I know all too well what it's like to do the wrong thing (and, if not for Jacob and his pack, I—and, worst of all, Bella—would have paid an infinitely dearer price for _my_ mistake). For almost a minute, he tries to clear his head, to think through the consequences without being overwhelmed by them, but being in wolf form only reminds him of what he's lost, severely lessening the advantage of the wolf's less-clouded mind, so he phases and I lose my connection to him.

Sam's pack is still wholly focused on the two boys, trying to give them a warm welcome to make up for the craziness they just went through, so I don't interrupt to tell them Jacob phased. Both boys are still shaken, but Collin is working through the shock faster than Brady. He feels the urge to test his newfound form almost to the point of leaping through a locked window, but Sam manages to persuade him to wait while he and Quil race to his and Brady's houses.

When Sam offers me thanks for counselling him to remain in La Push, the boys are as surprised to learn of my mind-reading ability as they are that I really am a vampire. Collin is excited—he loves the idea of being one of the tribe's secret protectors from supernatural threats—and his high spirits help his friend, who is more than a little overwhelmed by that aspect in particular. No one in Brady's family knows of the wolves' existence, so keeping the secret will be a much harsher responsibility for him. (Embry knows exactly what that's like, although hearing a sampling of his mother's regular tirades is more distressing than comforting for the new wolf.)

Quil arrives at Brady's house before Sam reaches Collin's. He phases so he can climb inside through Brady's window, then he and the young wolf—who is understandably unsettled about letting a naked stranger into his house—sneak out via the back door. Sam can't do the same for Collin, as his windows are all locked tight, so he uses the back door key that's hidden in the garden to gain access to the house and free him.

Once the boys start running, their new forms feel less alien; as long as they don't overthink it, running on four limbs is as easy as running on two. Quil and Brady are first to rendezvous with the rest of the pack, in the woods opposite the highway turnoff. If it weren't for their telepathy, Brady would be terrified of the crowd of enormous wolves. It's hard enough for him to recognise his friend in the gangly brown wolf who races up to his side. But Collin's enthusiasm helps him focus on the gratifying aspects of their supernatural inheritance, in which they're receiving something of a crash course from their pack-brothers.

And then my phone vibrates; it's Sue. She was also woken by Sam's howl, and she can't wait any longer to find out what's going on. After a quick debrief, she offers to make excuses for Collin and Brady in the morning, so I encourage the pack to consider the issue now. Both boys think they can return home before their parents notice they're gone, but when Embry challenges them to phase back _now_ , they start to comprehend the problem. Seth recalls his first deliberate transition, looking for any tips to share, but the boys are too distracted by everyone's accompanying thoughts—namely, Leah's injuries and our fight with the vampire—to really listen.

Neither boy's parents will be easily convinced to let them miss school, so Sam thinks the 'best' option is to say that the boys snuck off on a "hunting trip" with some of the older boys. Sue is confident that she and Billy can soften Collin's parents' ire, but Brady's parents, who are at odds with the council's relaxed view of me and my family based on some imaginary historical slight, will pose more of a challenge, so she suggests that Quil Snr (who intimidates everyone) oversee the boys' "punishment" upon their return—an approach that is working well enough to both excuse and "discipline" Embry.

Knowing how furious their parents will be, Collin and Brady only agree reluctantly, and neither sees getting two days off school as the "bonus" Seth thinks it is. Sue's sage advice to concentrate on understanding the wolf inside them first—because they are worthy members of the Quileute pack—and _then_ to make amends with their families helps them to relax, as does her promise to do what she can to comfort their parents. I let her know of its successful reception, then she hangs up so she can inform the rest of the council and Emily, Rachel, and Kim, who were surely also woken. Bolstered, the pack turns its attention to showing its new members some of the (proximate) highlights of their territory.

When Bella wakes half an hour later, I'm actually pleased to have such big news to share with her—to help distract her from her discomfort. As concerned as she is on behalf of the two boys, she is heartened by my theory about the curious process they underwent being a sign that two Alphas _can_ coexist. She even manages to remark that it was lucky the boys were both alone in their rooms, though her silver lining is devalued by her breathlessness. I try to suggest an amendment to our agreed timetable for the birth, but she deflects the matter by requesting an update on the size of our baby's foot, which unfortunately hasn't grown quite as much as expected—cementing Bella's determination to wait until tomorrow.

The wolves are somewhat torn on this timeframe; Seth, Jared, and Paul don't have a problem with waiting, while Sam and the others would rather we extract the child early, based on the assumption that a less developed creature will be weaker and therefore easier to control. It wouldn't help to point out that a less developed mind will be more driven by hunger, so instead, I describe the baby's sense of floating in a world of feelings, highlighting the similarities with the metaphysical world the wolves experience through their communal thought. Although, naturally, the words we speak are all but meaningless to the baby, the emotions in our voices are not. Its ability to recognise emotion (in broad terms) signals to me that its empathy for others will be strong enough to counter its thirst from day one.

Collin and Brady, who are less anxious than I'd expected about the unknown creature, find comfort in my descriptions of a naïve consciousness reacting to new stimuli, not realising that several insights are almost equally based on their experiences tonight. To illustrate my description, I recite some Spanish poetry, which entertains the baby, Bella, and the new wolves, providing a soothing backdrop for them as they absorb their new world. Then Esme joins in, going one step further to sing one of her favourite foreign-language songs—a French love song about the thrill of falling in love—and it turns into something of a competition showcase as Emmett and Rosalie attempt to better Esme's warm tones with a Spanish duet about 'dancing' all night long.

While she's still applauding their performance, Bella fixes me with a beseeching gaze, so I enlist Carlisle, Esme, and Rosalie to join me in a fun little scene from _Il barbiere di Siviglia_ ( _The Barber of Seville_ ). We act and sing, much to our audience's delight; the pack even stops to watch us. At its conclusion, Seth requests that we provide an English translation, so Carlisle and I repeat the lines in spoken English. Everyone laughs at the comic dialogue, which sounded so much more dignified in the Italian, and then Esme describes the thrilling atmosphere of the lavish Florentine performance we were emulating.

Bella is enraptured by the tale. "Will you teach me all the languages you know?" she asks me, no doubt looking forward to experiencing those other cultures and their rich histories.

I nod, ignoring Emmett's smug thought that she won't care about learning new languages when she discovers the true pleasure of sex (even in spite of her "boring" husband). "Maybe the baby will want to learn, too."

Her eyes light up. "Yes!" she gushes, before chuckling softly. "We'll _both_ be newborns."

Emmett snorts. "You only just thought of that _now_?"

Bella just sticks out her tongue—and then changes the subject by asking for a drink. We all grin when Rosalie sends Emmett to fulfil the request.

Sam's and Jared's thoughts enlighten the pack as to the drink's grisly nature. Paul is more amused than disturbed, but the other four are rather alarmed. To Collin and Brady, it brings home the reality of our monstrous condition.

"We are, by nature, monsters," I agree, "but we choose not to let the monster rule our actions. We believe in good and evil, and that killing humans is murder."

 _So other vampires are evil?_ , Collin asks.

I give him (through Seth) a smile. "Unfortunately, it's not that simple, Collin. Some vampires are definitely evil, but most simply consider themselves top of the human food chain, no different to any other predator—some actually think they're _better_ , because of their humane approach. They don't understand the distinction we make between a person's life and a deer's life, not least because the deer's blood is revolting."

Seth, Esme, and Emmett share a chuckle, but Bella is far from amused; her brow furrows as she stares down at the cup of human blood in her hands.

"The world is full of monsters," she says with a sigh.

Esme darts around the back of the couch and wraps an arm around Bella's shoulders. "You're not a monster," she says.

Bella looks up, contrition in her eyes. "I'm just feeling guilty."

"About what?"

"The human who donated this blood thought it was going to save someone's life."

"It _is_ ," I say; when she cracks a smile, I figure I'm on the right track. "You aren't wasting it, and your cause is every bit as worthy as a man who got drunk and crashed his car."

"Worthi _er_ ," Rosalie corrects.

"The understatement was deliberate," I counter. "I was trying not to sound pretentious."

"Too late," Bella quips reflexively, her melancholy conquered, before raising the straw to her lips.

While she drinks, Carlisle considers some advice to carry her through in future. "Life is complicated," he observes, "so it's easy to get locked into one perspective, and then you can feel as though your whole world is torn apart by some truth you missed, or an exception to a rule you've lived by all your life."

"Which is what happened to you," I joke.

He smiles. "Yes. When I realised what I'd become, I tried to kill myself because I thought that that was the only way to hold onto my values—to hold onto myself. Then I found a way that I could live with, without becoming a murderer. And yet, some might say I _am_ a murderer. It is selfish to condemn others to this existence, but I have done so four times." (He gives Rosalie a contrite smile, and is heartened by her reassuring smile.) "I debated the case thousands of times over in my head before finding Edward, but from the moment I saw him, the arguments for changing him became so much stronger. Even if his mother hadn't asked me to save him, I would have."

"And it was the right thing to do," Bella says definitively.

"Yes," he agrees wholeheartedly, "but that's my point—Edward is an exception. _You_ are, too. Changing you doesn't mean that changing a human _isn't_ wrong."

While Esme debates whether or not to point out that she is also an exception (because it emphasises the issues surrounding his choice to change Rosalie) and Seth adds my youthful vigilantism to the argument (because killing murderers and rapists is _justice_ , not murder), Bella nods slowly. We're all expecting something deep and meaningful, so when she declares, "We need Jasper here," we all laugh. "He's the philosopher."

"Yes, he is," I agree, "but he usually runs from these sorts of conversations."

Bella screws up her nose. "What does he do in college?"

"Run," I joke.

She sighs. "Then I'm glad he's not here."

I nod as she goes back to her drink; the rest of us are, too, though we've been glad of Jasper's absence since the moment Bella started drinking blood.

She starts yawning as soon as the cup is empty. After handing it to Rosalie, she takes a deep breath, then leans against me and is asleep in moments. The baby, in contrast, is more active than ever.

I can't resist resting my ear against Bella's stomach (on top of the blankets), so I can feel the baby move while I listen to its thoughts as its legs kick out and its arms wave around. It is especially fascinating because the movements are mostly uncontrolled—the product of the subconscious brain testing its body—so there's no mingled conscious/subconscious 'plan' for me to hear in advance, but I can figure out how it's moving using the feedback the brain receives from the body. Usually that pathway is much too quiet compared to conscious thoughts, but the wordless nature of the baby's thoughts means I'm able to hear it now.

While Bella and I are being "boring", Emmett recruits Esme to play chess with him. The others find their own entertainment: Carlisle checks in with the hospital, Seth watches his pack explore their forest home, and Rosalie composes a series of little nursery rhymes about our way of life, to explain everything from our superhuman abilities to why we hunt deer instead of humans.

Jacob's mind is startlingly altered when I hear it again, a few hours before dawn. His guilt at causing the kids to phase has put a lot into perspective, but his guilt for upsetting Bella is what really stands out for me. He seems to have finally realised that he's been a bad friend to her from the beginning.

As soon as he gets his bearings, he starts apologising to Sam and whoever else can hear him (which, thanks to the night's drama, is still everyone except Leah). They are as surprised as I am by the sudden maturity in his mindset. For the first time, he acknowledges that his attitude was based on self-centred motives. He doesn't quite admit to being _wrong_ , but he apologises for not listening to or respecting their judgement.

Acknowledging the consequences of his insurgence—most notably the issue of two Alphas calling the same territory home—Jacob asks for permission to return to the Reservation. Sam gives his consent, appreciating Jacob's humbleness despite his ongoing unease, so Jacob immediately starts running back. He wants to ask Sam if Embry and Quil heard any or all of his apology, but he suspects that that would be pushing his luck—especially when he wants to come _here_ before heading back to La Push. He hopes to apologise to Bella, too, and to do it while her heart's still beating; her still being alive will make the apology easier for him and, he assumes, for Bella, too—he knows his wolf scent won't cause her discomfort, but he thinks (erroneously) that his human form will incite her bloodlust.

While he's considering how to make his request, I share the more rational bent of his thoughts with Bella and the rest of our family. Her eyes immediately light up. For her sake, I provide a sample of his remorse and his wish to apologise to her, in person.

"Thank you," she murmurs, before giving me a wry smile. "Could you stand to let him in?"

" _Just_ ," I reply, trying to make a joke and ease her concern for my sake. "But I'll think up a suitably stern criticism for when he asks Sam."

"Not _too_ stern," she entreats. "He really is sorry."

I nod, finding it unexpectedly easy to follow her lead and allow her forgiveness to soften my own anger at him.

Jacob takes his time coming up with the "right" wording, so he's less than ten miles away before he broaches the subject with Sam. _Would it be all right if I go see Bella on the way home?_

 _Of course Bella would like to see you_ , Sam replies, _but that doesn't mean you don't have much to be sorry for_.

 _I know_ , Jacob replies, _and I_ am _sorry._ Then, unexpectedly, he addresses me directly. His thoughts stumble over my name, but he is determined to be civil. _I assume you can hear me through Seth? I won't cause any trouble, I swear. I just want to say sorry—and then you can kick me out if you want_.

Seth grins at me, knowing how much the thought of _kicking_ Jacob appeals to me; but then he sees the conflict in my expression. _You don't_ have _to hate him_ , he reminds me.

I quirk an eyebrow, forgoing a verbal response, and at least succeed in amusing Seth even if I can't make sense of my own tangled emotions. Sam isn't surprised that I feel sorry for the kid even now, so he tells Jacob that he may visit Bella but he and I both want to keep tabs on him.

 _Sure_ , Jacob agrees immediately, trying not to let his unhappiness at being shut out of the pack's thoughts affect the tone of his mental voice. With the most self-deprecatory sentiment I've ever heard from him, he remembers his "foolish" belief that being a wolf would be so much better without all the voices. _I didn't get it before_ , he ruefully tells Sam. _I took our shared thoughts for granted. I hated it when I should have appreciated it, and now it's too late_.

 _It isn't too late_ , Sam replies kindly. _I don't think you can undo what you did, but you can still make up for it_.

 _Thanks_ , Jacob replies, taking a good deal of heart from Sam's compassion as he races towards the point at which he expects to be in range of my telepathy. He assumes I hate him more than ever now, which makes it amusing that I don't. Amidst my baby's happy thoughts, my wife's high spirits, and my revived sympathy for the boy, I feel positively beneficent. What's more, the list of topics that he'll try to avoid thinking about in my hearing is weirdly adorable—the "parasite" inside Bella, their "romantic" embrace at our wedding, the way her smile warms his insides, her silken lips… It gets irritating when his focus shifts from feelings of love to feelings of _lust_ , but it's nothing I haven't heard before and he soon diverts his thoughts onto figuring out a cute little joke or two to make Bella laugh.

He knows he broke the front door and probably the lock, too, so he's momentarily surprised to find everything in perfect order when he arrives; then he mentally rolls his eyes at the fresh paint fumes as he trots up onto the porch. Esme meets him at the door with track pants and a t-shirt, and he makes a point of thanking her before taking them. Once clothed, he even apologises to her for all the trouble he's caused.

Caught off guard, she thanks him but leaves it at that for now; it's not _her_ forgiveness he needs to earn. She steps aside and ushers him inside.

This time, when Bella holds out her hand, he takes it. Without the accompanying snide thoughts he usually directs at me, the joy he feels at that simple touch intensifies my pity for the lovesick boy. How can I begrudge his presence, especially when Bella is happy to see him? Especially when the deepening of his feelings was a direct consequence of me abandoning Bella. I look away as he sinks to his knees in front of her—for my sake or theirs, I'm not sure—but of course I can still see them from every angle as my wary family watches on.

"I'm so sorry, Bells," he murmurs, cupping her hand in both of his.

"I'm sorry, too," she replies.

When he shakes his head, his eyes catch on her stomach. He shudders minutely, imagining the vile creature inside her; then, emboldened by her apology, he quips, "You've got some mutant spawn inside you and _I'm_ the one freaking out."

Bella gives a little chuckle. "It's a _baby_ ," she chides.

With Bella smiling down at him, he can't help smiling, too. "I'll take your word for it." Then he takes a deep breath, aborting it partway as our sharp scent sears his airways—but it doesn't affect his conviction. "Congratulations, honey."

She squeezes his hand. "You don't have to—"

"I _want_ to," he interrupts. "I've been a bad friend, and I want to make it up to you."

"No, _I_ was the bad friend," Bella insists, "right from the start."

Jacob considers arguing, but he knows how stubborn she is—and he agrees that she's not blameless—so he offers a compromise instead. "I can forgive you if you can forgive me?"

"Of course!"

He chuckles at her enthusiasm, then murmurs tenderly, "I forgive you." His tone makes it sound like _I love you_.

"Thanks," Bella sighs, teary eyed. "I forgive you, too, Jake. I wish I could make it better."

"I think you used up all your wishes on that thing," he says, nodding towards her stomach.

"True," she replies seriously, a fresh smile ousting the nascent tears. "My little miracle."

He can't quite be happy about the "miracle baby", but Bella's joy makes him _want_ to be, and that almost means more. Our scent still burns his nose, but he knows that Seth has become accustomed to it and figures he will, too. The conviction feels strangely familiar; he would rather be with Bella than not, because his heartache is less when she's around, so he'll learn to deal with his pain when he's alone (and for the time being, he figures he's going to be run off his two feet trying to rebuild his relationship with Sam and the rest of the pack). He still hates the thought of her as a "living corpse", but he believes that she'll still be Bella; he doesn't support Seth's dismissiveness of the bloodlust she'll inherit, but he trusts her not to lose herself to the monster.

I don't know how to react when he turns his attention to me and mutters a rushed apology. Part of me wants to refuse it, to remind him of the myriad horrible thoughts he's inflicted upon me and all the pain he's caused Bella, but those memories are fast losing their sting. So I utter a simple _thank you_ and then say nothing as he stands up and switches places with the pillows on Bella's right side.

"When did you get home?" he asks, trying to walk the line between assuaging his curiosity and avoiding the "unpleasant" details.

"Sunday," she answers, letting him retake her hand. "We only realised I was pregnant on Saturday."

He snorts in disbelief. "How much were you _eating_?"

" _Tons_ ," she jokes. "But five days ago, I still could've fitted into my swimsuit."

I can't help smiling as I imagine her finishing the sentence— _if Edward hadn't torn it off my body a few weeks earlier_. Bella's little smirk implies she's thinking it, too, though our family simply assumes she'd chosen not to wear it.

" _Five days_ ," Jacob repeats, stunned by the baby's rapid growth.

"You should try one of Edward's cinnamon rolls," Bella announces, clearly changing the subject in an attempt to stall the mounting panic in his eyes.

It turns out to be the perfect distraction, as he recalls the random offer Seth had pitched him yesterday and then struggles to believe that _I_ made them. " _Edward's?_ " he repeats sceptically.

Seth and Bella both nod, grinning at his doubtful expression.

"The best thing you'll ever eat," Bella insists, while Esme heads into the kitchen to gather a plateful of the sweet treats.

Jacob doesn't like the sound of enjoying something _I_ made to that extent, but he can't say no to Bella's bright eyes, and then the sweet-smelling rolls help take the edge off our scent as Esme hands him the plate. Bella picks up the closest roll and holds it out for Seth, who immediately bites off a third of it.

When Jacob hesitates, Bella raises the partly devoured roll towards his mouth. He laughs and hastily picks up one for himself. As he goes to take a bite, he casts a sideways glance at me and thinks, _Would you like to spit on it first?_

He actually notices my lips twitch into a faint smirk and is amused. I'm not used to being such a neutral part of his thoughts, and he feels equally wrong-footed; but then he takes a bite and stops caring.

 _Damn, that's so good!_ "How?" he mumbles through his mouthful (because he figures I won't answer him).

Bella grins at his obvious relish. "Food Network."

He pauses mid-chew, unable to believe that watching a few celebrity chefs cook would give me such mastery over pastry.

"It's only a matter of following instructions," I point out.

 _No recipe could make this_ , he thinks, words failing him as he savours the perfect balance of spice and the soft dough that seems to melt in his mouth.

Unseen by Jacob, Bella flashes me a coy little smile that makes it clear she endorses my capabilities on that score; her admiration thrills me, as always, although I can't enjoy it fully because it reinforces our family's belief that she'd had to dictate every part of our lovemaking.

It isn't until Jacob is devouring a second roll that he starts wondering why Bella isn't having any.

Obviously reading the question in his expression, she answers before he finishes his mouthful. "I've already had tons."

He quirks an eyebrow. "It's not like you'll get fat—" _fatt_ er, he thinks to himself. "Why not enjoy human taste buds while you've still got them?"

Bella cringes. "It's a little late already…"

"What does _that_ mean?"

"We're getting the baby out tomorrow," she says, sidestepping the question.

He freezes, blindsided by the imminent deadline. Her heartbeat is the most important sound in the whole world, and he anticipates it being silenced tomorrow—not understanding that her heart will sound out the entire transformation. (But the presumption is not entirely inaccurate: the moment my venom takes hold, the sound we know will start to distort.)

"It's going to be fine," Bella tries to assure him. "The baby already understands so much, and Edward has a plan to help me get through as fast as possible."

 _To help you die_ , Jacob thinks sadly, but he manages a slightly strangled, only slightly sarcastic, "Great."

"It'll work," she says confidently, squeezing my hand. "Even if it only speeds things up an hour or two."

I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb; I appreciate her measured expectations, even though I'm hoping for more than that, because I don't want to give her the wrong impression. From her perspective, whether the change is completed in three days or three hours is totally irrelevant. "Three days for eternity," I say, quoting her. (The vampires in the room rue the sacrifice, though Emmett also enjoys the "joke"—because every minute of the transformation feels like an eternity of pain.)

Her lips curve into a smile, but the motion is conspicuously sluggish.

"You're tired," I murmur.

She sighs and lets her eyes close. "No more than when I woke up," she quips.

"Can I stay?" Jacob asks quickly, dismayed at the thought of missing Bella's last human day.

Bella drags her eyelids back up to check my expression before voicing her assent. "I'd like that," she tells us both. "I'll sleep right here anyway."

Her hopeful expression wins me over. "Only if you're comfortable here…"

She nods and snuggles against the pillow Rosalie retrieves for her. "You don't mind?" she breathes as I tuck one of the blankets back up over her shoulders.

"I'm fine, Bella. Go to sleep, love."

She hums softly and relaxes all of her weight against me. In a matter of minutes, she is fast asleep, leaving the rest of us in rather awkward silence. I only break it when Jacob thinks about cuddling in closer— _to keep her warm_.

"Move and I'll break every bone that touches her."

Jacob isn't the only one to pick up on my unfortunate choice of words (I should've been less considerate and simply threatened to break _every_ bone in his body), but it sends _his_ thoughts along a particularly unpleasant path.

 _If Bella had wanted us_ both, he thinks, _could you have shared her?_

The question reawakens a good portion of my dislike for the tiresome boy. When I ignore him, he wrongly assumes my answer is _no_ —as if I wouldn't endure anything for Bella.

 _I would've_ said _I could share_ , he thinks, partly joking and partly serious (he's thought about making Bella the offer more than once), _but I wouldn't have had to 'cos she would've picked me real quick_.

"In your dreams," I mutter.

The total lack of anger in my voice startles him; my response reminds him of the way his pack-brothers would dismiss his more outlandish ideas. He doesn't understand why my tolerance is so high, but he really does appreciate it, so he tries to set his thoughts on a less antagonistic track. Except he can't stop thinking about Bella becoming a vampire _tomorrow_.

 _It hurts, doesn't it? The change_.

I nod.

 _A lot_.

"You can't even imagine."

He winces, then considers the extra complication—the "baby". Can we just cut it out of her stomach, or will it have more of a normal birth, which could itself be long and painful?

"Carlisle and I will extract the baby," I tell him, which amplifies his already gruesome thoughts. "It'll be like an ordinary C-section," I clarify.

 _With drugs?_

"Yes, she's agreed to anaesthetic," I say, elaborating for my family's sake.

Jacob realises he's being rude (although he can't help feeling that it isn't rude when it's _vampires_ being slighted), so this time—since I'm being so "charitable"—he asks his next question aloud. "What do you know about it—the _baby_?"

For my sake, Carlisle speaks up to take a share in the conversation. "Physically, we know very little, but Edward's interpretations of its thoughts indicate that it is intrinsically human."

Jacob tries not to make a face at the well-meaning doctor. _Intrinsically human?_ , he echoes, trying to unpack the cryptic sentiment.

"I think I heard the baby's very first thoughts," I say, answering him in a roundabout way that will please the rest of my audience. "They were unlike any thoughts I've ever encountered, but they developed quickly, and now they're much the same as a human newborn's."

"So what's it thinking right now?" he blurts, a genuine burst of excitement and curiosity breaking through his instinctive revulsion, leaving me to lament my loquaciousness.

"That it can feel sound vibrations through its fingers," I reply, avoiding the truth that my unborn baby _likes_ the sound of Jacob's voice.

His eyes widen. "It _understands_ vibrations?"

I roll my eyes. "Obviously I'm translating its feelings into words. Its hearing is a lot sharper than I would've expected; it can follow the sounds of our voices and is already recognising our names."

Jacob doesn't know what to think—he wants to hate the creature, but he can't help being impressed—so he shrugs off the confusion and refocuses on his default thought. Bella. _Bella's asleep—why are you being so nice?_

"I _am_ the nice one," I remind him.

Conscious of not waking Bella, he snorts out a quiet laugh, amused because it's the truth. _I wasn't_ trying _to be a dick_ , he thinks, somehow forgetting his many deliberately malicious thoughts and deeds.

"You were just born that way," I quip.

"That's not what I meant," he complains, irritated that _I_ could "misunderstand" him.

I meet his pouty glare with a firm gaze. "You've hurt Bella, you've hurt me, you've hurt your pack, you've hurt your family—and you're still making excuses."

He flinches, stung by the temperate reproach. "I'm sure we'd all feel better if you just yelled at me," he offers, trying to joke.

I roll my eyes, my child's and Seth's amusement encouraging me not to give him the response his impudence deserves. Seth gives me a grin, then puts on his most serious expression before fixing his gaze on Jacob.

"I _am_ sorry," Jacob murmurs to him. "I really thought I was right and everyone else was wrong."

Emmett wastes no time teasing me about having heard that before, so I tip my head in his direction to acknowledge him, then pass on Seth's counsel for Jacob. "Seth would like to point out that you're still making excuses."

Jacob glances at me, his usual irritation at my gift amplified due to having lost his own link with Seth's thoughts, and then nods. "No more excuses," he promises, hoping the pack and his family will give him another chance.

Seth grins, satisfied with that—because it's not as though the reckless boy can change who he is—and then asks me to give Jacob an update on Collin and Brady.

When I offer, Jacob can't help thinking he hates being so indebted to me. But he wants to know, and he'd rather _I_ make an effort than Sam, so he nods and mumbles a quiet _thanks_ to make up for his less-than-grateful thoughts. Collin wants to tell Jacob that he's not allowed to run off again, so I end my report on that point.

Jacob gives Collin, through Seth, a wry smile. "I won't. But if the pack needs me to—"

"Jacob," I interrupt. "Quit while you're ever so slightly in front."

" _Ha, ha_ ," he retorts. Then he stares at me, eyes narrowed, trying to decide whether to take my advice or not; he doesn't trust that I'm trying to be helpful.

" _Nice_ ," I mutter.

 _Sure, sure_ , he thinks sarcastically, letting himself be convinced. But he doesn't believe that I'm as nice as I make out. _You're not as perfect as you think_ , he taunts. "Bet you weren't so calm when you realised Bella was pregnant."

"Well, I didn't bust through any doors…"

He snorts, rebuffing the mild jibe. "When did you start hearing its thoughts?"

"Tuesday morning."

"Huh," he murmurs, wondering how I'd managed to keep it together for three days. He is distracted when Bella's head moves; she's waking up, but he only waits a moment in case she opens her eyes before going on with his questions. "Do you know what it's going to be like? Does it have teeth already?"

"The baby gnashes its teeth every so often," I allow, "but it isn't that interested in its own body." (Even now, as it waves its hands and feet in increasingly coordinated but still predominantly subconscious movements, it's more interested in the shifting currents those motions create.)

"What else does it have to think about?"

"The sounds it hears occupy most of its thoughts. But it also doesn't perceive time the way we do. It can think about Bella's heartbeat for hours." Her pulse speeds up a little, confirming that she's already awake enough to follow our conversation, but I'm happy to let her rest a little longer.

 _How is that different?_ , Jacob quips, thinking that he could easily do the same (which is ironic because he isn't paying enough attention to it now), before refocusing on a deliberately challenging question. "Did you want to kill it?"

"I don't know," I say honestly. The reply is met with instant scepticism, so I offer up an explanation without the least expectation he'll listen (though it's primarily for Bella's sake). "Before I'd worked through the shock, Bella convinced me that her wellbeing was tied up in the baby's wellbeing—I couldn't dismiss one without impacting the other."

This time, her heart gives her away. Our family and Jacob all stare at her, some wondering how long she's been awake, others assuming she only heard part of what I said.

To spare her, I draw their attention back to me. "And then she convinced me that, together, we can do anything."

Jacob struggles to see how she could manage that until he pictures himself in my shoes—and then imagines Bella convincing him with a round of hot sex. Thankfully, though, he aborts the thought before it gets graphic, more disgusted than I am. "Sounds pretty risky."

"Some things are worth taking a chance on."

 _Nothing's worth risking Bella's life_ , he scorns. _You'd trade her for a kid?_

As his thoughts grow more insulting, I remember what it feels like to want to punch my fist through his skull—but as always, Bella comes to my rescue. The second she lifts up her head, he forgets his juvenile reproofs, and I can't help enjoying his jealousy as she smiles just for me.

"Anything broken?" she jokes.

"I managed to resist throwing Jacob out the nearest window," I reply, matching her light tone, then move on before the joke turns serious. "How'd you sleep?"

"Great," she enthuses, sharing her smile with Jacob and the others. "I actually feel almost normal."

Everyone smiles at that, though they don't all believe her, and Carlisle immediately wants to interrogate her. To spare her the barrage of questions, I ask one on his behalf.

"Normal aside from the pain?"

"I'm not feeling any," she says. "Even though he's running a marathon in there."

" _He?_ " Jacob queries.

She chuckles. "Or she." Her eyes drift out of focus for a few seconds and then, somehow, her smile grows. "Maybe _crawling_ is more accurate—there are definitely more than two feet involved."

I nod; the baby is using an alternating pattern of motion now, although each hand moves and then each foot, so it's not really crawling. " _Climbing_?" I suggest, cringing slightly as two little fingers scrape away a fragment of the womb lining. "The hands and feet are moving separately."

She waits a moment, then shakes her head. "It feels all jumbled up together to me—but it does seem more coordinated. Is he _trying_ to climb?"

"The movements aren't deliberate yet," I allow, "but at the rate he's developing, they soon will be—and we should get him out before that point."

"Why?"

"Because as soon as he becomes consciously aware of his predicament, I assume he'll want to get out."

The theory makes everyone shudder, Bella included. She mulls it over while Carlisle and Rosalie discuss its potential credibility and the implications. I engage in their discussion, answering the wolves' concerns as they arise, but I know that Bella's opinion is the only one that matters.


	20. Chapter 20

**Twenty: Father**

No one is surprised that Bella decides to wait a little longer before initiating the birth, and it's hard to argue with her logic: she speculates that the realisation I'm anticipating might not happen before tomorrow's already scheduled birthday, but if it does, my insight will enable us to react quickly. What does take us all by surprise is the ongoing improvement in her condition.

Although the baby is growing rapidly once more—its current foot length of almost three inches equates to 38-40 weeks in human terms—and becoming more and more active, Bella's body seems to have found its equilibrium. Her stomach has stopped expanding, the pain has entirely disappeared, and she no longer feels nauseous whenever she or the baby moves.

I suppose it's to be expected that Jacob is the most startled by the changes.

"Yesterday, you looked sick, but now you look—" _better than normal_ is what springs to mind, but he can't bring himself to say that when her look is so affected by our baby—"almost normal."

"I must be over the hump," she says cheerfully. "I was feeling tired no matter how much I slept, but now I can't imagine ever sleeping again."

"That's lucky," he quips, his voice a little sour as he contemplates her future inability to sleep for the rest of eternity.

"Yes," she agrees, ignoring the undertone, though her smile wavers slightly until she meets my gaze and sees my elation. "No more waiting for me to wake up," she jokes.

"It wasn't a chore," I murmur, gazing into her bright eyes; the total lack of discomfort, exhaustion, concern, or fear makes them as beautiful as I've ever seen.

The wolves' thoughts quickly highlight that I've revealed my stalkerish behaviour; though my focus is still Bella, I can't help exposing my amusement at their various speculations. Seth knows I stay close to Bella regardless of her state of consciousness, but most of the others had assumed, thanks to Bella's 'old-fashioned' sense of decorum, that I'd been barred from the bedroom while she slept.

"We _are_ married now," I mutter, seeing if I can get away with implying that I've only just started sharing Bella's bed.

Bella quirks an eyebrow, then glances at Seth, then Jacob. "What?" she asks him, clearly deciding that my remark was in response to his thoughts.

"Wasn't me," Jacob grumbles (because he'd been grudgingly trying to picture Bella's face in vampire form). "Ask your bloodsucker."

I don't make her ask twice. "The wolves were just questioning our sleeping arrangements."

"Ah," she murmurs, seemingly not the least bit embarrassed—despite the enticing blush spreading across her cheeks.

The others all assume her thoughts are centred on times she _wasn't_ sleeping, so I'm not surprised when Emmett takes the opportunity to make a bad joke.

Bella purses her lips, but then simply rolls her eyes at him; it would take a cold heart not to be moved by his mischievous smile. "Stop fishing for details—you aren't getting any."

"Alice already knows," he argues.

"I had no control over that."

"How about we make a deal," he counters smoothly. "I beat you at arm wrestling and you tell me about your favourite—" _only_ , he amends in his thoughts, teasing me—"time."

"Arm wrestling?" Bella repeats doubtfully, giving him hope (despite her sceptical tone) that she'll take the deal.

"It's the only direct physical contest we're allowed," he grouches, mock-glaring at me and then Esme.

"Of course it is," Esme insists. "Even arm wrestling is dangerous while Bella is still a newborn."

"Edward's got scars," he starts to say, before breaking off when Rosalie narrows her eyes. "Kidding, babe."

Rosalie _hmmms_ disapprovingly; she knows he feels left out now that I am also 'battle scarred', but she would never forgive any one of us—including Emmett—if we marred his perfection. "If you lose, don't come crying to me."

Capitalising on the opportunity, Emmett flexes his left bicep so fast that it shreds the shirt sleeve from shoulder to elbow. "I'm not gonna lose," he says confidently, enjoying Bella's and Jacob's immediately elevated pulses.

Bella seems plenty convinced by the show of power, so I speak up on her behalf. "The only thing you're not going to lose is your curiosity."

Emmett and the rest of our family laugh, but Bella is still focused on the tattered sleeve, and Jacob and the majority of the pack are struggling to imagine Bella ever being strong enough to defeat Emmett—so it creates fresh anxiety about her newborn strength. Seth helps make up for my thoughtless boast by pointing out that, although they would be more wary of a well-built vampire, they wouldn't be any more afraid to take him (or her) on, so they shouldn't be afraid of Bella's extra strength either.

"So it's a deal, then?" Emmett prompts, hoping my overconfidence will persuade Bella to accept his bargain.

"What does Bella get when _she_ wins?" I reply, goading him in return.

He shrugs nonchalantly. "When she turns into a sex hound, I won't hassle her about her former innocence."

Bella fixes Emmett with her most reproving glare. "No sex talk and no innuendos, _period_."

"That's hardly fair," he protests to the roomful of sniggering vampires.

"Does it matter?" I counter. "If you're as confident in your success as you claim—"

"I'm confident."

"Then you ought to agree before I suggest any additional clauses."

He screws up his nose as he weighs his options. He assumes I'm threatening to set the restraint on his thoughts as well (because otherwise the deal is worse than meaningless for me), but he also knows I make a point of _not_ interfering with my family's right to think as they will, so he's tempted to call my bluff. After all, he is gambling on newborn Bella being unable to harness her strength with the necessary control to beat him, and that gamble seems riskier with every passing second. "Only as relates to you and Edward," he haggles, "with a universal ban around the kid."

Bella gasps. "Don't even _think_ about making sex jokes around my baby!"

He holds up his hands. "That's what I meant," he insists, stretching the truth to breaking point. "I was just pointing out that I'll already be—"

"Emmett," I interrupt, "that's not a point in your favour."

Esme nods to back me up. "Teach my grandchild your bad manners at your peril." When Emmett responds with his most angelic smile, she has to laugh. "That's the only face you're allowed to show the baby."

"It better sleep," he jokes, "that's all I'm saying."

"For _your_ sake," Rosalie warns him, only teasing on the outside, "you'd better hope so."

He winds an arm around her waist and presses a purposely tender kiss to her cheek. "You can't commandeer the baby _all_ the time, Rose."

Rosalie makes a show of rolling her eyes to avoid acknowledging his point. Then, to tease him by changing the topic before the wager has been decided, she turns to Bella and offers to get her a drink. She can't wait for Jacob to find out that his "honey" is already a bloodsucker, but she keeps it discrete for Bella's sake—so it is Bella's guilty expression that warns Jacob there's something going on.

Pre-empting his question—unable to resist making a joke out of my explanation—I tell him, "It's a liquid supplement to support the baby's rapid growth."

Seth gives a chuckling snort that confirms I've not told the whole truth.

"What is it?" Jacob asks, with a sinking feeling that he already knows the answer.

"Blood," Bella whispers.

He flinches as though she screamed the word directly into his ear, then vehemently shakes his head. "No. You're still _human_." Then, before she can say anything, he looks over at Seth and asks the pack, "How are you okay with this—with _any_ of it?"

I want to retort that he'd obviously rather they blindly oppose Bella's needs (as _he_ habitually does), but I check myself and instead say, "Right now, Bella is no different from any other enervated human in need of blood—she just happens to be taking it orally rather than intravenously."

He snorts at that, but Seth's nodding distracts him enough that he actually stops to think about it—and it starts making sense. _I've fallen into bizarro world_ , he thinks to himself, using humour to 'rationalise' his muddled feelings. _Down is up and bad is good_.

"I understand if you want to leave," Bella murmurs.

The sadness in her eyes stirs a few vaguely guilty feelings, but her offer highlights the consequences of letting his temper get the best of him this time. If he leaves now, he knows I'll never let him back—and Bella might not forgive him as easily when she is a vampire. "Of course I don't want to leave, Bella, honey," he replies, taking her hand in both of his, trying to get his fill of her warmth before it's gone forever.

Bella gives him a rueful smile. "I know it's a lot to take in."

He snorts softly. "Do you not realise how utterly impossible you are?"

"Right back at you," she retorts, her manner switching from apologetic to defiant in an instant.

He grins, amused by her overreaction. "I meant it as a compliment. Compared to you, I'm… normal." _Compared to you, I'm nothing special—just a stupid little kid who fell in love with an angel_.

"That doesn't sound like a compliment either."

He chuckles, imagining how she'd react to the unedited version, but he can't help wanting to shelter his own feelings. _If you want to tell her, wait till I'm not around, okay?_ , he quips, knowing it would be pushing his luck to ask for my discretion. "You live in this crazy, impossible world, and none of it bothers you."

"Because it _is_ my world," she answers without hesitation. "Everything makes sense to me. _I_ make sense."

Her words cut to the heart of his internal unrest. "Maybe that's my problem," he murmurs, drinking in the certainty in her eyes. "Nothing makes sense to me. I don't know where I fit."

She squeezes his hand. "That's how I used to feel, before Edward and his family came into my life—I'm not saying you need to find your soulmate before you can figure any of it out, but for me, Edward was my pathway into the world where I belong."

"Nice to know where I rank," I tease, hoping to draw her attention back to me—because talking about me while looking into Jacob's eyes is projecting far too much love in his direction.

It works brilliantly; she shifts her loving gaze to me, and then nudges me with her shoulder. "You complain if I say everything's about you."

"I take it all back."

She laughs, then murmurs, "Told you so," in a cheeky tone that reminds me of our debate following her recanting her desire to swim with dolphins after discovering that they flee from me.

Jacob eyes her smirk with tangled emotions. Seeing us together still hurts, but for the first time, he sees that she is different with me—that what we have is something _he_ could never have with her, because whether I'm around or not, he would always be runner up. And then, as he ponders the upside of being temporarily ageless given that he might have to wait decades for the girl for whom _he_ is number one, he thinks of the 'age gap' between Bella and me.

Hopeful he's having an epiphany—and trying to distract him from the cup of blood Rosalie returns with—I answer his nascent question. "It doesn't feel like I had to wait decades for my girl to come along. But that's probably because I wasn't _looking_ for a mate."

"Even after a _century_?" he asks, genuinely unable to believe that I'd not felt desire for any girl in all those years.

"I never met anyone who particularly appealed to me."

"Spoken by a true narcissist," Rosalie quips.

"Is _that_ why it's taken us so long to get along?" I joke.

Rosalie, Emmett, and Esme laugh, while Carlisle and Bella (judging by her thoughtful smile as she sips her drink) see the serious side together with the humour. Jacob sees the serious side, too, and it 'answers' his question: before I met Bella, I was utterly content in my own company. He can remember feeling like that, too—despite having a crush on Bella for as long as he can remember, he'd been perfectly happy with his ordinary little life, until I left and self-sufficient Bella suddenly leaned on him for emotional support—except he can't see how he could ever get back that feeling of contentment. And who could ever measure up to brave, loving, loyal, sassy Bella?

The lull in conversation is exactly what Emmett was waiting for. "Bella," he says to call her attention away from the fragrant treat. "Do we have a deal?"

She shrugs nonchalantly, the bravado back (does the blood make her feel stronger?). "Your parlour tricks aren't as intimidating as you think," she teases.

"That was just to show you it's fun to let loose. I guarantee you'll like arm wrestling, too."

"Only if I _win_ ," she mutters.

"When _I_ win, we _all_ win," he counters, before laying out his case.

His attempt to argue that it's fun to share sex stories is hilarious—until he brings me into it. "Just because I hear things doesn't mean I want to talk about them."

 _If you hadn't knocked up Bella,_ _I'd swear you were still a virgin_. "That gift is wasted on you."

"How would you know? You've never had a thought you wouldn't share with anyone."

 _Careful, Wadie_ , he teases. _If I win, I'm gonna squeeze every last detail out of your coy little mate—and if Bella manages to beat me… well, you won't care. You'll be begging her to ride you all day long and you won't care who's listening._

As personally embarrassing as it is, his taunting sparks my imagination, making the lust pool in my groin. If Jasper were here, I'd never live it down—thankfully, he's far away, so I'm able to pretend I'm unaffected. In fact, my acting is so good that Emmett actually wonders if my fear of harming Bella had entirely supressed my enjoyment of the exquisite act.

"When _I_ win," he says to Bella, his voice a curious mix of bravado and sympathy, "you tell me every little detail and answer any question I have in relation to your favourite round of sex with Edward. Conversely—purely for the sake of argument—if you win, I will resist commenting on your former innocence _and_ your ensuing voraciousness."

Bella takes the last sip of her drink before replying. "If _I_ win," she counters, "you are permanently banned from making any comment, joke, or innuendo about our love lives."

Her stipulation is nicely comprehensive, but there's one aspect I need to specify. "That includes talking about anyone else's love lives in any way that implies anything about or could serve as a comparator to ours."

Emmett huffs at the "added" restriction, but he knows he isn't going to get a better deal. "Fine. But I'm going to win, so you'd better start thinking about which time you enjoyed the most—assuming you _have_ choices, of course."

"It'd be a tougher decision for _me_ than for Rosalie," Bella shoots back, surprising us all that she not only rose to the bait but also seems fully earnest.

Everyone (except Jacob, of course) laughs, enjoying the spirited riposte.

"Wanna bet?" Emmett says, hoping to wrangle a side wager.

"No," Bella insists. "Even if it _weren't_ an impossible question."

"It's possible," Emmett replies. "I'd even let you figure out a way to control for our greater _experience_." He shares a smirk with Rosalie, who is equally smug in her belief that Bella is mistaken.

Bella shakes her head. "It was rhetorical, and I'm not discussing it any further."

"It was a slight on my reputation—"

"Now _you're_ slighting Edward's reputation."

" _What_ reputation? That bump," he says, nodding towards her stomach, "is the only evidence he actually did anything."

"You're forgetting his reputation for being the best at everything," she counters, defending me admirably.

Esme claps her hands, delighted by Bella's sharp wit, while Carlisle, Emmett, Seth, and I laugh, and Rosalie and Jacob scoff.

"She's _human_ ," Rosalie points out, a little peeved that she has to spell it out.

"Technically," I say, "the relativity built into it—"

"Shush," Bella interrupts. "I'm sorry," she tells Rosalie. "I was just hassling Emmett."

"He _does_ deserve it," Rosalie agrees, "but I can't have them believing you."

Bella chuckles. "Enjoying the joke doesn't mean they _believe_ it."

" _You_ believe it."

"It would be sad if I didn't."

" _Very_ sad," Emmett concurs, before pulling his wife into his arms once more. "Roo, you're talking to a girl who thinks two orgasms is a long run."

Rosalie chuckles, but she can't help wondering if Bella _is_ correct, despite that—after all, I "must" know all of Emmett's tricks, as well as hundreds if not thousands of other techniques for pleasing a woman… I make a point of avoiding eye contact; I'd rather leave her to speculate than admit my relative ignorance.

Emmett is a little startled by her apparent discontent, but he thinks there's a simple solution. "Alice can confirm—"

"No," she interrupts. "Alice is biased."

"Not _that_ biased," he jokes, no less assured of his greater prowess.

"It doesn't matter," Bella says firmly. "No one is comparing—"

"Jasper could—"

" _No_ ," Bella and Rosalie say together, shutting him down.

"When I beat you," Bella asserts, "this ends."

Emmett grins. "When _I_ beat _you_ , you'll thank me for teaching you—" at my warning growl, he wisely breaks off, sparing Bella and the wolves from his crassness (the others can guess what he planned to say because he made his opinions and predictions clear while Bella and I were thousands of miles away).

"You're going to regret all this boasting," I warn him.

He laughs especially heartily at that, thinking that I ought to know he doesn't know the meaning of the word _regret_ , and I have to smile as the baby, who had been focused on the three heartbeats in the room, suddenly syncs its movements to the staccato beat of his laughter. Bella felt it, too, so describing the cute little moment is an excellent conversation changer.

Talking about our baby's movements seems to give Bella a strong sense of restlessness, for she quickly suggests going for a walk and is visibly disappointed that it's still dark outside, and will be for another hour. To give her something to focus on while we wait (and to remind her of the forest's nocturnal perils), I describe Collin and Brady's earlier encounter with a fiery little bobcat. She gasps in all the right places, and laughs, too, and when I reach the end of the adventure, she finds herself another distraction, announcing her desire for a wardrobe change.

She stands smoothly, pulling me with her, and waves Rosalie back when she tries to follow, assuring her that my help will be sufficient. The ease with which she manages the stairs thrills us both, and we laugh together after she claims to feel more stable than usual thanks to the extra weight at her middle.

For my pleasure, she chooses the most figure-hugging dress that our family made for her. Seeming not to realise the full extent of her appeal even now, she strikes a teasing pose that makes me _especially_ glad of Jasper's absence, then beckons me into a maddeningly brief kiss, before pairing the sexy dress with thick, over-the-knee socks and a voluminous jersey. She is clearly intent on rejoining the others immediately—perhaps in an attempt to prevent Emmett making jokes about what we're doing up here (not knowing that it's already too late)—so I swallow my desire and smile as she takes my hand and leads me back downstairs.

The oversized jersey does a reasonable job of hiding her curves, but the tight dress calls attention to them in a way that is undeniably sexy. Emmett clamps his lips shut, not daring to make even the most tangential joke about our speed, and Rosalie can't decide whether to be pleased that her design suits Bella so well or furious that her mate is taking notice of another woman's figure.

Bella only seems conscious of the outfit's effect on Jacob, but that's more than enough to make her blush. She tries tugging the hem of the jersey down further, below her bottom, but the fabric bounces back as soon as she lets go, so it ends up looking like she's stroking her backside. I honestly can't blame him for staring, so I'm impressed when he actually tries not to imagine touching her there, doing his best not to antagonise me with his thoughts.

Esme breaks the silence by asking Bella about the comfort of the reinforced dress, then following up with a few suggestions for passing the time until the sun comes up.

The baby doesn't stop moving for the entire hour, so Bella is eager to go outside as soon as the chill of night has lifted. Even Leah comes with us; she phases so as to greet the pack's two newest members, then she and Seth race one another through the forest. Emmett has one race with them, but he and Leah push each other faster and faster until the pack can't stand it any longer and I have to tell him to stop—to their mutual disappointment.

After Bella and the rest of us have walked two-thirds of a mile through the forest, the baby finally settles down, lulled by the curious new feeling that walking has created. Bella shows no signs of tiring or feeling cold, so we dare to walk a little further to one of our favourite spots by the river.

Seth and Emmett leap straight into the water, while I spread out a picnic blanket for Bella, and the others settle down around us. Jacob sits at the water's edge by Bella's feet, ostensibly watching the wolf and the vampire play in the water as he tries to ignore the heightened edginess he feels at being surrounded by vampires: although our scent has less 'bite' in the open air, our inhumanness is even more apparent in the wan sunlight among the mist-laden trees. He jokes to himself that it's the perfect setting for a horror story… and yet, if he disregards the overwhelming vampire-to-human ratio, there really isn't anything wrong here. He even laughs when Leah dives into the water to pounce on Seth.

No doubt trying to start a light-hearted conversation, Bella asks after Jacob's car, the "Rabbit", and then encourages Rosalie to tell him about her interest in restoring old cars. Rosalie plays along for Bella's sake, but she can't help talking down to the "miracle-working" mechanic. He knows that "Sleepless Beauty" is assuming his skills are limited—we all know Bella's praise means nothing in this context—so her deliberately simplistic language irritates him, but the range of interesting cars she's worked on goes some way to making up for it.

"Have you ever converted an engine to run on alternative fuels?" he asks, thinking of the vegetable-oil-fuelled go-kart he'd made as an enthusiastic nine-year-old.

"Yes," she replies, "and I built the engine, too."

"Of course you did," he mutters, figuring that when you're a millionaire vampire 'princess', you have access to unlimited resources. "I don't quite have _your_ resources, but I've made a few engine prototypes from scratch, and I modified a go-kart to run on used vegetable oil when I was a kid."

 _That was cool_ , Seth thinks, picturing the little kart, which Jacob had let him help decorate; he'd never got to drive it himself—Jacob cannibalised it for parts before Seth was deemed "old enough"—but watching it speed along the beach had been thrilling enough for a little six-year-old).

"Seth remembers it," I offer. "It went pretty fast."

"It could've gone faster," Jacob says, immediately defensive, "but Dad wouldn't let me put bigger tyres on it."

"I wasn't criticising," I reply (but he isn't convinced). I'm tempted to comment on his defensiveness, but Bella nudges me before I've decided how to frame the observation, telling me to back off.

"Have you repaired anyone else's car?" she asks, varying the subject.

"You mean, have I got a _job_?" he quips. Then he shrugs. "I've worked on a few cars, but I'm just the emergency mechanic—I usually still get paid in pizza."

"It's a solid start," Bella jokes. "You should ask Charlie to spread the word in Forks."

"Does he know you're back?" Jacob blurts, killing the light-hearted mood just as it was getting going.

"No," Bella murmurs guiltily. "He thinks we flew straight to Hanover."

Understandably, Jacob tries to connect 'Hanover' with Alaska, so I explain that our plans had changed, making it clear that it was the truth when we told Charlie (and Renée). Bella blushes when I name the Ivy League school, but Jacob is only surprised by the change itself. He'd expected me to insist that we attend a prodigious school, so our choice of Alaska had been another signal that I hadn't intended for us to go to college this year (and certainly not to last the full year).

Curious as to when and why we'd made the change, he asks, "When did you—?" and then he gets it: Bella had wanted to stay human for longer after we slept together (so I'd convinced her to change to the fancy college).

I don't care that he's misjudging my role in the decision, but his superior understanding of her motives is still as infuriating as ever. My only consolation is that, if I understood her as well, I would have made love to her much sooner—maybe even a year ago—so she would have fallen pregnant at a far less opportune time.

His teeth snap shut with a loud enough _chink_ that Bella jumps. "Never mind," he mutters, looking away.

"Jake?" she asks worriedly. "What's wrong?" When he doesn't answer, she turns to me.

"Nothing new," I tell her gently. Neither of them is pleased by the simple response, so I elaborate, choosing my words carefully. "He's figured out why you changed your mind."

Her concern turns to mortification in a heartbeat—which also accelerates, flooding her cheeks with colour.

At first, I'm a little insulted by the length of time it takes our vampire family to understand her reaction—until their accompanying thoughts make it clear that the decision doesn't make sense to them. Even Esme thinks that sex ought to have made Bella want to become a vampire sooner rather than later! I have to laugh; Bella's logic was apparently backwards again, and I hadn't even noticed—although I think she is correct in that, in relative terms, the necessities of human life aren't remotely distracting or restrictive compared to the bloodlust.

Jacob is annoyed to have his suspicions confirmed, but he tries to limit his disappointment by reminding himself that the chances of Bella _not_ enjoying sex with me were non-existent; like Rosalie, he assumes that I would have learned all the tricks for maximising Bella's pleasure. His thoughts bounce around a little as he tries to think about something else, and then he suddenly wonders if I ever drank her blood during sex. He clamps down on the thought fast, though—as if I'd want to answer it.

Ignoring him, I tell my family—too quickly and quietly for Bella to hear—that I agree with Bella, then I shift the subject by declaring my intention to hack the Dartmouth system to delete our records so we can apply again when Bella is ready. Seth urges me to say that we only need to cancel our first-semester courses, so I voice his opinion, then point out that we'll be focused on our child for at least the next few years regardless of Bella's ability to handle human company.

Bella enthusiastically proposes that we go to college when our baby starts school, and that perfect future seems so real to me that it feels like one of Alice's visions. Jacob is the only one saddened by it; he likes picturing Bella happy (adding a winged, mutant child pretending to be human in a scene that looks like it's straight out of a kid's TV show), but he can't imagine himself in that future. How many years will it have been since he saw her?

"I'd say that's up to you," I tell him.

 _What if_ she _doesn't want to see me afterwards?_ , he laments, mourning his lot in life as much as talking to me. Will she regret inviting him to visit after she wakes?

"You think she's that fickle?"

He concedes the point, but it doesn't assuage his dread.

"What is it, Jake?" Bella prompts.

He keeps his eyes trained on the deepest stretch of rushing water. "What if you don't want me around after tomorrow?"

She stretches out with her right foot to give him a little nudge on the thigh. "Don't be silly," she admonishes gently. "Of course I will—I thought we'd established that."

"Everything will be different when you wake up."

"Not _everything_ ," she refutes. "I'll still be me—I'll just be able to kick your arse."

He gives a soft chuckle and finally looks up at her. "I guess I owe you another right hook."

She shudders, no doubt picturing what would happen if she punched him in the jaw after the change, and then shakes her head. "We already forgave you for that," she tells him generously.

" _We?_ " he quips, glancing at me.

" _I'm_ the nice one, remember?" I joke, avoiding answering either way.

 _Like you wouldn't rip my throat out the first chance you got_ , he jokes back (because he would still like to tear _me_ limb from limb), while Bella chuckles and then gives me a kiss on the cheek.

As I bask in the warmth of her love, I realise that, somehow, strangely, I've already got past my hatred of Jacob. It feels like a lifetime ago that I wanted to punch my fist through his skull, though it was mere hours. _Why was that again?_ Ah—he was accusing me of wilfully endangering Bella's life for the sake of a child… But those thoughts don't enrage me now; my pity for the heartbroken boy is sufficient to counter the insult. So I simply shrug to signal my ambivalence.

He is amused by the gesture, incorrectly assuming that I was _acknowledging_ his point, but I'm fine with that. I'd rather he take fewer liberties around me, even if my tolerance of his bad manners has increased.

Before we settle on another topic of conversation, the atmospheric pressure takes a dive, warning us that rain is coming. Bella doesn't want to risk being caught out in the wet, so I carry her back in my arms. Leah considers heading back to La Push now that the tensions with Jacob have eased, so she dawdles behind our troop, exploring the forest until she makes up her mind to stay for the birth, just in case something unexpected happens. It starts to rain before she gets back to the house, so she finds a sheltered spot in the front yard and settles down. The wolves offer Collin and Brady the option of taking shelter beneath a nearby overhang, but, to their pack-brothers' delight, the new wolves are equally unconcerned by the weather and would much rather continue exploring.

When the rain is heavy enough for Bella to hear it on the roof, she describes the thrilling storm we'd experienced on Isle Esme. It had shaken the whole house, lashing the windows with rain the like of which Bella had never seen before, and marking its progress with booms of thunder that reverberated through the house and us. As she shakes her hands to emphasise the power of the storm, the baby suddenly becomes aware of its predicament, realising that it is _inside_.

Trying not to panic, I take a breath and then say, "It's time."

No one misunderstands me. Bella squeezes my hand and then asks me to carry her upstairs. While Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett gather the equipment we need from downstairs, including swapping our bed for the hospital bed from the dining room, I help Bella change into her pyjamas.

Seth remains in wolf form to help reassure his pack, but he is ready to phase the second I ask, if I need anything. Leah is tempted to come inside, but her connection to Seth helps ease her nerves and she still can't stomach the thought of being walled in with our sharp scent. Jacob stays in the lounge with his former pack-brother, trying to joke to himself about his imaginings of Seth's perpetually cheerful thoughts as a way of blocking out his own unpleasant ones.

As Bella comforts our baby, Carlisle prepares the anaesthetic and a morphine drip, and I fill a syringe with my venom. As soon as the anaesthetic has numbed Bella's body, I make a cut across the crown of her stomach to expose the hardened womb. Her flesh is so thin, it's like a balloon stretched over rock; when the cut is three inches long, the skin starts peeling back on its own, ripping wide open to expose the bloody stone that is her swollen uterus.

As we anticipated, the scalpel makes no impression on the womb's crystalline wall. My fingers are too blunt an instrument, so I will have to use my teeth. I warn Bella, then place my teeth against the exposed womb and start biting chunks out of it.

I pull back to use my hands once I've created a sufficiently wide crater in the outer layer, carefully digging through the hardened tissue. After a few seconds, the baby realises what's happening and starts trying to bite and claw its way through, excited to meet us. I don't know how effective its efforts are, but I can feel its little bites lining up with mine. And then its eyes register the light that is steadily getting brighter so it stops to press its little hands against the weakened zone, marvelling at the silhouette of its own fingers.

When I break through, the first thing I see is a pair of tiny little hands covered in bloody goo. I widen the hole quickly, exposing tiny arms and then the head.

The moment I see two beautiful brown eyes shining up at me, I'm swept up in an exceptionally powerful wave of love for our precious child. I'm thrilled to be the first thing those eyes see and equally thrilled by the bond we both feel between us. But I'm conscious of Bella's condition, too, so I reach into the gap and wrap my hands around the little body. The baby delights in my touch, intrigued but wholly unconcerned by the chill, and waves its little hands towards my face.

When I discover that my wish for a daughter has been granted, my heart feels too big for my chest. Without question, she is the most perfect thing I've ever beheld, and her love and equal regard for me amplify my own feelings infinitely. She isn't a stranger to me and I don't feel like a stranger to her, either. She knows I'm her father as surely as she knows that Bella is her mother. My face pleases her and fits her nebulous expectations; feeling her own features has given her enough insight into the human form that what she sees comes as no surprise (although she's curious about the shirt I'm wearing).

"I love you so much," I tell her, gratified that she recognises my voice, before turning her to see her mother. "We have a daughter, Bella."

"Renesmee!" Bella gasps, holding out a trembling hand.

She seems stable enough for the moment (and Carlisle thinks so, too, as he activates the flow of morphine), so I accede to the wishes of my wife and daughter and place the gooey little girl into Bella's arms.

Renesmee immediately cuddles into her mother's bosom, while Bella strokes her mop of auburn hair that's just like mine. Her skin is fair with a warm undertone, just like Bella's. She is truly a perfect combination of our features.

Once Bella has a firm grip on our daughter, I let go to retrieve the towel that Carlisle is holding out for me. We share a warm smile; he is equally overwhelmed by emotion in this special moment.

And then our little vampire connects the pulse she's feeling against her cheek to her thirst for blood. With relish, she sinks her tiny teeth into Bella's flesh and starts sucking greedily.

Bella chuckles, clearly content to let her feed, but there isn't time to indulge our daughter. Whatever Bella's feelings on the matter, she is already losing blood without a greedy baby drawing it forth, so I wrap the towel around Renesmee before gently prying her teeth from Bella's flesh.

Trying to prolong her access to the exquisite draught, Renesmee grizzles and pushes against me with her feet. But when I call to her, she stops resisting and looks up. I hastily lift her out of Bella's arms and press a kiss to her head as I introduce her to her granddad.

He murmurs hello as I transfer her into his arms, and she recognises his voice, which reduces her unwillingness to leave me. I give her another quick kiss and then Carlisle carries his precious charge from the room. Rosalie meets them on the stairs, too impatient to wait any longer. She gushes over her wonderful niece and then whips her out of Carlisle's arms, cooing that they're going to have a bath and then find something as pretty as she is to wear.

Meanwhile, I quadruple the dose of morphine, hoping to flood Bella's system with the powerful painkiller, and then grab the syringe containing my venom.

"I've always wanted this, Edward," Bella murmurs, smiling up at me, her voice firm despite the drugs. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I reply, following up with a kiss as I line up the syringe with her heart. Then I shift my lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, biting into her soft skin even as I drive the needle into her heart.

The burst of her exquisite blood in my mouth makes everything blank out for an instant—but one truth remains that makes easy to push back against the mindless bloodlust: Bella is joining me in immortality.

My brave wife gasps and then stiffens, squeezing her eyes shut, as my venom enters her bloodstream. Her motionlessness as I place strategic bites across her body to maximise my venom's penetration makes it both easier and harder to complete my task. If only I could know how well the drugs are working! But the one thing that might still be in my power is to speed up her transformation, and it is a great comfort that her heartbeat, the sound of which has already begun to warp, never falters.

Once every part of her body is exposed to my venom, I pause to assess her condition… I can't refrain from licking my bloody lips, and then I find myself licking my bloody fingers—and then Bella's bloody body. I tell myself that it's to check the amount of morphine in her system, and it is a relief to taste it strongly in her blood, but that's just the excuse. I feel like one of those fictional vampires—the sexy ones whose bite is orgasmic and doesn't cause excruciating death. And then I feel intensely guilty for indulging myself while Bella burns.

I take a breath and focus more of my attention on the beautiful daughter I never thought possible. She is currently splashing about in the kitchen sink, being fussed over by her family, who are equally amazed by everything about her, least of which are her rapidly developing motor skills. The wolves seeing her through Seth's eyes are dumbstruck by the alert little girl, the reason in her wide eyes, the curiosity in her expression, the warmth in her angelic smile. She is truly Bella's daughter, but they all see a flattering amount of me in her, too, and not merely because of her bronze-tinted locks.

Renesmee _loves_ the attention and I'm not the only one who knows it: she is gifted, too, although her gift is opposite to mine. Instead of hearing others' thoughts, she can project her own thoughts into others' minds—through her hands. At first, our family is amusingly startled, but they are quickly captivated by her curiosity and delight in the world around her. They all want to stay in contact with her thoughts at all times, and although Renesmee isn't yet conscious of what she's doing, she feels happiest in contact with them, too.

I don't know if Bella can hear me—and if she can, whether she can understand me—but I whisper to her about our beautiful daughter in the hope of easing the shock of my touch as I gently wash the blood and gore from her tremulous body, describing Renesmee's powerful thoughts and her wonderful gift.

After letting Renesmee play in the water for a few minutes, Rosalie pronounces her clean and then scoops her out. She wraps the giggling little girl in a pre-warmed towel and carries her back to the lounge, everyone else following after. Emmett passes Rosalie a cloth diaper and watches gleefully as she deftly folds and pins the fabric in place. It isn't until "their" baby is dressed in a cute little jumpsuit that he's able to tear himself away to retrieve some blood for Renesmee's first official meal—while Carlisle enthuses over her 'normal' reaction to Bella's blood, saying she could have been a normal human baby drinking milk.

Jacob had been hanging back, his focus the distorted beat of Bella's heart, but his curiosity about the baby draws him closer now that Emmett's spot has opened up. Is it a normal-looking newborn, or does it have fangs or wings or a tail or webbed feet?

The sound of his heartbeat drawing nearer attracts Renesmee's attention. Her eyes home in on his face and he freezes.

Trapped in her gaze, he sinks to his knees as his whole world resets. The heartache washes away in an instant, replaced by pure joy. Her swift, fluttery heartbeat is no longer a sign of her unnaturalness, but rather a sign of her uniqueness.

My daughter has only been in this world for seven minutes, and Jacob Black has imprinted on her. I _want_ to be angry—as before, I can _remember_ feeling anger—but any of my feelings not fixed on Bella are centred on my wonderful daughter, and Jacob's feelings of awe are hardly disagreeable. With a strong sense of irony, I recall my wish that he would imprint—because even after imprinting, he _still_ wants my girl. I know he'll be even more obsessed with Renesmee than he was with Bella, but the thought that stands out most is that my daughter will not be barred from Quileute land. My unwavering high spirits are reinforced by Seth's delight; he and the wolves recognise what's happening, and he thinks it hilariously perfect—although he spares a thought for me, the brand-new father whose baby is suddenly branded a wolf's mate.

Jacob is still too amazed by his new feelings that are utterly extraordinary and yet reassuringly familiar to spare a thought for me. He feels as though the Jacob he thought he was is only a tiny part of the Jacob he really is, and the new Jacob isn't _new_ , just whole. He imagines that his feelings for Bella have merged with the all-consuming love he feels for the perfect little being in front of him, making the wholly unexpected (and formerly unwanted) imprinting feel natural and easy—and _right_. It is such a contrast to Sam's experience that it is a revelation in itself, because even though their situations were entirely different, Jacob had expected to suffer the same agony that Sam went through.

My bold daughter thinks nothing of sharing her mind with Jacob, too; when she reaches out to him, he is overwhelmed with emotion. Rosalie glances up, intending to warn him to keep his distance, but there's no mistaking the look of wonder on his face. She purses her lips, still inclined to tell him to stay back, before acceding to Renesmee's wishes and sitting her on her lap so that her head is in line with Jacob's.

Jacob holds out a hand to Renesmee, mirroring her pose, as he half-crawls across the carpet towards her. I stroke Bella's arm, wondering what she'll make of it. Will she be happy or angry? I know she'll forgive him either way, but I can't help hoping she'll be angry at first—even if she is only a _little_ angry, her newborn emotions will magnify that into proper anger.

She whimpers softly on her next exhale, so I pull back. "It's okay, love," I murmur, hoping she can't hear the tremor in my voice.

Jacob revels in Renesmee's thoughts as their hands connect; he is used to feeling another's mind inside his, so there's no period of adjustment for him as there had been for the others. And she is thrilled by his incredible warmth. She tries to climb from Rosalie's arms into his, but Rosalie isn't having that, so she makes do with grabbing his thumb with both hands. She giggles when he closes his hands around hers, enjoying the radiated warmth.

"Jake," he murmurs in answer to her curiosity, wishing he could share his mind with her.

When she wants him to bring his hands closer to her mouth, he obeys without apprehending her full intent—so he starts when she immediately sinks her pearly whites into the pad of his thumb. But the thought of stopping her doesn't even enter his head; he merely hopes that his body's ability to heal can keep pace with her appetite.

The others—except Seth, and Carlisle, who has already realised that Renesmee isn't venomous—are variously alarmed or appalled, but Jacob's minimal reaction and Renesmee's obvious enjoyment persuade them not to interfere. And although she doesn't think his blood is as delicious as her mother's, her enjoyment is intriguing. Are her taste buds different from ours, despite her shared love of blood, or is the wolves' human blood actually pleasant despite its malodour? It would certainly be an ingenious defence mechanism to _smell_ unappetising to vampires while being no less palatable than a normal human.

I think back over Leah's injuries and realise that I hadn't thought anything of the scent of her blood merging with her general scent in wolf form; then, when she'd been in human form, I'd been focused on assisting Carlisle (who hadn't noticed because he no longer feels any reaction to blood).

Emmett laughs uproariously when he returns with the chilled blood to find that Renesmee has found herself a fresh meal. "I hope it tastes a _lot_ better than it smells," he teases.

Jacob feels a spark of fear as he suddenly realises that he is bleeding in a room full of vampires, but he can't even tear his eyes away from Renesmee to keep an eye on the hulking vampire standing right behind him. So he settles for explaining his generosity. "I've imprinted on her," he murmurs, his own amazement clear in his voice.

Rosalie mutters a soft curse, while Esme and Carlisle are torn between sympathy for my anticipated distress and relief that the lingering romantic tension between Jacob and Bella will be resolved. Emmett is the least bothered about it; he thinks any downsides are offset by the usefulness of a willing blood donor.

Bella stops gasping on every inhale, so I dare to touch her again, singing softly as I change her into the dress Alice picked out for her. Although the stretch marks strafing across her stomach are even more striking, the wound has already closed up; the mass of hardened tissue is breaking down more quickly than anything else, so her body seems to be changing normally.

Renesmee stops feeding before Jacob feels any physical effects of the blood loss; happily, her curiosity is sufficient to overcome her hunger. She wants to understand the differences between the warm ones—her mother and Jacob—and the rest of us. As she starts contemplating a two-way 'conversation' with the others' thoughts, I call for Rosalie to bring her upstairs. Rey hears me and immediately responds, flooding Rosalie's, Jacob's, and Esme's minds with an image of my smiling face and a wave of love for me, the power of which is easily three times the maximum of what Jasper could effect (except, unlike the effects of his gift, they are well aware that they're Renesmee's feelings, not their own).

Rosalie and Esme share a chuckle. "She'll have us all madly in love with him before the week is out," Rosalie quips.

Esme winks at her, then smiles at her granddaughter. "Yes, little one," she coos. "Let's go see your daddy."

Seth phases so he can more easily come upstairs with the others, and Jacob considers staying behind, but the pull to be with Renesmee overcomes his self-consciousness. He stops in the doorway, though, trying to be respectful; then, when he sees Bella, he doesn't want to come closer anyway (despite her loud heartbeat and faint trembling, he thinks she looks dead).

Renesmee reaches for me the moment they enter the room, so Rosalie reluctantly passes her into my arms (without surrendering contact with her right hand), while Seth wraps an arm around my shoulder.

"She's perfect," he murmurs, before "commiserating" with me in thought about Jacob's imprinting. _I hope you're not too mad_.

"I'm trying not to think about it," I reply without taking my eyes off my beautiful daughter.

Unlike Jacob, who guesses the topic of our conversation and attempts to apologise in his thoughts (but mars the effort with his confidence that Bella will be as happy about it as he is), Seth hears the amusement in my voice. He figures that my daughter is ample distraction, so he jokes about the awkward position Jacob has got himself into: I've gone from his greatest enemy to the most important man in his life. I can't help liking the sound of that, and the part of me that wishes Seth had imprinted on Renesmee instead (even though it would probably be weird later on) is slightly less disappointed.

"Renesmee, this is Uncle Seth."

"Hey there," Seth murmurs, holding out a hand for her.

She feels its warmth and immediately snatches at it, giggling in anticipation. Seth chuckles, too; he knows what she wants. As she sinks her teeth into the fleshy pad of his thumb, I realise just how spoilt this little bloodsucker is going to be.

Jacob stiffens, jealous and fearful that she might prefer Seth's blood to his own, but he manages not to voice his self-centred objections—even after giving up hope that Seth will dislike the odd sensation.

Indeed, Seth is so relaxed about it that he glances up at me with a grin. _If Rey thinks it's good, maybe you will, too_ , he thinks, casually offering to share his blood with me, too _. Any ideas for not poisoning me?_

"I'll figure something out," I murmur, too intrigued to decline the generous offer, even as I wonder whether or not his unique blood would turn my eyes red.

He smiles, pleased I'm game to try it, and then chuckles at the happy little girl latched onto his hand. _She really_ is _a leech_ , he jokes, referring to the minimal pain of her bite. "How much do you think she's drinking?"

"Less than it feels like," I assure him.

"So I'll be replenishing it faster than she can drink?"

"Probably," I agree, equally amused by the idea of an effectively infinite fount of blood. And then I have to share the wolves' thoughts with him, because although they're shocked to hear that Renesmee is now feeding on him, they're much less appalled than either of us expected—because, as Leah points out, they already knew he was a "leech lover".

"Edward?" Jacob calls softly, not realising that I was already paying sufficient attention to his thoughts. _How will you manage Bella's thirst around Rey?_

"There's no danger," I reply without looking up.

He doesn't believe me. "Rey is half human," he points out. "Her scent will hurt Bella—"

"She doesn't _smell_ human," Rosalie interrupts, adding "idiot" under her breath (not that Renesmee is paying any attention to our conversation).

Jacob is taken aback; to him, Rey's scent is just like Bella's. Although he is relieved for Renesmee's sake, he is painfully conscious that it means she doesn't need him at all. He is desperate to be there when Bella wakes, in case anything goes wrong, and he'd thought letting the newborn vampire test her bloodlust on him would excuse his presence now that Seth is clearly willing to act as Renesmee's blood donor.

"Renesmee's blood won't rouse Bella's bloodlust," I tell him, trying to keep it simple. "To us, she smells like a vampire."

Seth immediately realises the complication of that—any vampire that saw her would assume we've broken the law against turning a child. _Would they stop to realise her heart beats?_

I shake my head; the sound is much too unusual to convince anyone of her true heritage. "Even her warmth won't convince them she's different."

"So we keep a low profile till she's… twelve-ish?"

I nod. "There's a bit of a grey area, so as long as she looks sane, they'll either decide she's older than she looks or think we got lucky."

"We did get lucky," he agrees happily, though there is a strong sense of self-satisfaction wrapped up in that (because he'd anticipated this outcome).

"You'd better get all the _I told you so_ 's out of the way before Bella wakes up," I joke.

"I'll leave that to her." _Besides, Jake owes me enough to set me up for life_. When I can't help grimacing, he apologises for the reminder. _It'll be different this time_ , he dares to promise, thinking of the change imprinting wrought in Paul and the way Quil views his toddler-aged beloved. _He might even end up in_ your _shoes when she's older_ , he muses, considering the possibility that Renesmee has more than one suitor when she's older—before realising that I won't want to think about that either. _Leah hassling you yet?_ , he asks, changing the subject.

"Not yet, but I assume it won't be long."

 _Don't tell me_ , he jokes, before changing the subject. "Can we see everything you can?" he checks, referring to Renesmee's thoughts; when I nod, he asks, "Have her thoughts changed much since she was born?"

"Yes and no. There wasn't anything to see before, and that's such a big part of her thoughts now—well, when she's not feasting," I can't help adding, because her memories of us have considerably less prominence in her thoughts right now—"but her reasoning capacity was already developing."

"Do you think she'll learn how to switch it on and off?"

"I hope so," I murmur, as we all ponder that point for the first time. Given that I can't 'switch off' _my_ gift, none of us is overly optimistic.

While Rey is still fully occupied by her drink, Carlisle runs an experiment. After wrapping a cloth around one hand, he touches the back of her nearest hand. "No difference," he murmurs sadly.

Seth is almost as impressed as he is concerned, which helps me temper my distress, but the others are uniformly upset by the thought that her only recourse might be avoiding all touch.

"Maybe if it was lead lined?" Seth suggests, lightening the mood by half a degree.

"Let's try other materials later," I say, halting Carlisle's mental plans. "There's still a chance she'll be able to control it when she understands what she's doing."

Esme and Seth nod, and their growing confidence fosters my own optimism. After all, it _is_ more likely that she would gain greater control over her gift than I have over mine, because she is the one doing the broadcasting.

That thought triggers another, turning into a promising little theory. "Jasper can control the active aspect of his gift," I say. "If _her_ gift is active—" I don't bother finishing the thought; they all get it, and it eases their worries considerably.

Jacob is the most reassured; he is already speculating that she might be able to project her thoughts across distance, mirroring my ability. Remembering his earlier distress, I remind him that the invitation to return after Bella awakes still stands. He is sincerely grateful, because it makes leaving Renesmee infinitesimally easier, but he also assumes I'm telling him to leave _now_. I almost correct him; if the sense of rivalry between the two Alphas were better resolved, I probably would have.

Seth looks up, thinking I spoke in response to Jacob's thoughts. "Are you going home?" he asks him, preparing to argue if he says no.

Jacob nods, his eyes tightening with guilt. "I'll try and clear the air with Sam first."

Seth rolls his eyes. "You're still our brother. We know you're sorry—just try harder to be less of a jerk."

"I thought I was," he jokes, feeling more hopeful that Sam and the others will forgive him quickly.

Seth chuckles. "Keep trying," he jokes back and they share a smile.

Jacob manages to keep his eyes off Bella as he gives me a quick nod of thanks and then says, "Goodbye, honey," to Renesmee. Unsurprised but inherently disappointed by her lack of reaction, he sends me a telepathic plea to promise her that he'll be back soon if she asks about him.

After remembering to thank Carlisle and Esme for their hospitality, he heads downstairs and outside via the front door. Leah flashes her teeth at him but doesn't growl, so he gives her a quick wave. "I'm gonna phase, okay?"

She grunts; personally, she doesn't care, especially now that she doesn't have to listen to him. Only Sam is nervous about letting Jacob return home in wolf form, but he feels considerably less threatened now that Jacob has imprinted—and he shares his pack's curiosity about its effect on the headstrong boy.

Watching Jacob phase amplifies Sam's anxiety, but the moment Jacob reaches out with his mind to greet him, he feels the difference in it. He may not be able to sense it fully, but a fresh sense of purpose rings through Jacob's every word, adding a comforting earnestness to his vow of allegiance.

After Sam agrees to meet him on the way back to La Push, Jacob does his best to reassure him that he will still follow his lead—Sam Uley is still Alpha of the Quileute pack, and Chief of the tribe. Then, in typical Jacob style, he dares to joke that he won't grovel or perform any submissive posturing to demonstrate his loyalty. It isn't a new sentiment—indeed, it is one of the pack's favourite jokes—so it helps Sam feel secure in his leadership and gives the pack the opportunity to tease their "gracious" leader (which is very much business as usual).

After Jacob's departure, Leah decides she's ready to go home, too. _Not that I'll ever get the stench out of my fur_ , she grumbles, more teasing than not, and then asks me to send her "mad" brother outside. Seth nods as soon as I say her name. As happy as he'd be to stay, he knows his mother will be eager to see them and to hear their news (even though Paul has already sent word of Renesmee's successful birth). So he says his goodbyes, extricates his thumb from Renesmee's tiny maw, ruffles my hair, and then ditches his track pants and jumps straight out the window. He starts phasing in mid-air, then takes off the instant his paws hit the ground. Leah huffs, playing up her irritation at his trickery, and races off after him.

My daughter listens until she can no longer hear the wolves, then stretches both hands up towards my face (without dislodging Rosalie's or Esme's touch), so I lift her a little higher and lean down to help her reach me. She giggles when I kiss the hand nearest my lips and presses the fingertips of her other hand into my cheek, filling my mind and soul with so much love.

Renesmee's forceful thoughts aside, Bella's powerful heart is now the strongest sound in the house, counting down the seconds until our family will be whole again.

. . . . .

. . . . .

 **Epilogue**

Renesmee's gift is a gift for us all. At first, the others see exactly what I see—exactly what she is thinking—but it takes her less than half an hour to learn to focus her thoughts in order to communicate more directly.

Her endless list of questions starts with asking us to share our thoughts with her. She is understandably disappointed when I explain that we can't reciprocate, no matter how much we want to, but she soon decides that it explains why we talk so much, and she loves the sound of my gift. I would be amazed by her grasp of such complex ideas if I weren't already astounded by the speed at which her thoughts are developing and maturing.

The intelligent little girl devours every new word and concept, building a rich picture of the world around her using her own deductions and our explanations, although we can barely explain it all fast enough.

When we teach her the alphabet, she loves spelling out her name—her favourite letters are R and E—and she eagerly accepts her nickname, too.

She listens, enraptured, to Rosalie's stories about us vampires, and then races through all the baby books we have in a matter of hours.

There's no doubt that my precious daughter will get me through the next few days, but even she can't fill the cavernous void inside me. Only Bella can do that. Only Bella can ever do that.

. . . . .

. . . . .

 _Continued in the sequel "Lahaina Noon" (s/12993384/1/Lahaina-Noon)_

. . . . .

. . . . .

 _Author's Note:_ Thanks for reading! I have found figuring out Jacob quite the challenge in these last couple of chapters… I hope you like what I've ended up with; I know some (most?!) of you would've preferred that he didn't imprint on Renesmee, but I like the closure that it brings Bella about Jacob's feelings for her. Also, the irony of Jacob imprinting on someone who is effectively a vampire amuses me greatly, and I didn't want Seth to imprint on her because he's Edward's friend first and foremost. (The baby thing never bothered me because imprinting is the person's soul/genes reacting to its soulmate. Anyone else – human, vampire, werewolf, or otherwise – obsessing over a baby/child would be utterly creepy: even though Edward continually insists that the way he feels about Bella is stronger than imprinting, falling in love with her was still a conscious process; if he'd met Bella when she was younger, he presumably would've been equally curious about her, but the romantic feelings wouldn't have developed _until he saw her as a potential mate_ , and I think that's the crucial distinction between imprinting and depravity!


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